Queen of Ruin
by Shujin1
Summary: Ugly. Malevolent. Violent. Cursed. That was magic to Queen Regent Renia Valeriya, until a girl summoned her to be everything she was not. Beautiful. Wise. Powerful. Divine. Her magic incurred debts of blood and pain, but if it saved her from being branded like cattle, she could pretend. She could fake being the hero. And perhaps discover something true about herself along the way.
1. Chapter 1

**_QUEEN OF RUIN_**

* * *

The boy had never been good at hiding his emotions.

His shoulders dropped with releasing tension as she swallowed. The wine burned in her throat and settled like a smoldering coal in her stomach.

He was not looking at her. Bright amber eyes like his father's stared into her reflection in the silver wall mirror. In the right light and at the right angle, they might have resembled the eyes of a wolf. Sharp and searching. Now, they were as a frightened pup's, warily tracking her shadow as it flickered from reflection to reflection. She scraped her knife across her plate and smiled at how the discordant rasp made him flinch in his chair.

The seat at the head of the table was empty. Her son refused to sit in it. It still had an empty plate and cutlery on embroidered serviette, as if at any moment his father would walk in with his usual apologies. She still had those moments, when she forgot. She had been there when he had breathed his last, and yet his presence clung. The boy had been more attached to the man than she had been.

She should have pushed. His place was at the head of the table. As the Emperor, it was his only place. She should have insisted.

"Posture," she said instead.

Her son straightened out of his sullen slouch, murmuring a soft apology. His broad shoulders under golden epaulets spoke of the man he was growing into. He was at that age when clothes that fit him a week ago were now too small, but she did like how the blue sash across the white uniform complimented his light hair.

She adjusted the white fur cloak around her shoulders as she sampled the soup. Over spiced, almost perfect. One of these days, she would ask Minister Pietr exactly what his special ingredient had been. It was just not the same without it.

He had been so disappointed when she had not fallen over dead, of course, but the soup had been divine.

She took a second, pondering sip of her wine. It burned, perhaps more than it should.

She leaned back in her chair as she contemplated her goblet. Across from her, her son tensed. Her shadow stopped in the silver mirror behind her. In the reflection, a small woman with dark eyes and dark gently curling hair leaned around his chair.

"Poison, is it, Edmund?" Her shadow asked as it gently caressed her son's tawny hair. "I hope you chose well?"

"I - yes." His voice was nearly a whisper. "Spores of a venatus ignos fungi."

Venatus. Hunters? Or combat, battle. Ignos. That she did not know. With a slight grimace of distaste, she glanced down at the sleeve of gold chain studded with rubies gilding her right arm. She raised her hand just far enough above the table to signal. Right, down, right.

An oil slick slid against her mind.

_Mageiaphage_. Magic eaters. She pressed her lips together. She did not feel any different, which meant it was slow acting. There was a risk that it would be too slow and allow her to slip the noose, but she taught him. He knew better. So it must be one that accelerated under certain conditions, conditions guaranteed to make the poison fatal.

Magic eaters. If she were to remove her Arcanum - a large part of her balked. Not helpless, never helpless, but a sorceress without a foci was _lesser_. She could pry out the ruby plugging the wound over her heart. She could misplace her crown, but she could not _not_ use magic.

It was in her blood.

He would give her secondary toxins while she was delirious and weak under the guise of medicine. Physicians could easily become murderers, at the right price. And then the coroner to examine the body, thoroughly. The ruby over her heart would be removed, perhaps her heart as well. Locked away in a lead case blessed with sacred oils and holy words, buried in a shallow grave just within the threshold of Alexander's Cathedral.

Just to be sure.

Regicide was a complicated crime, after all. She should know. The devil was quite literally in the details.

"Inconvenient," she muttered. Her son had _poisoned her_. "Is this really the time for petty rebellion?"

He dropped his eyes to his plate and began to saw into his meat with more force than necessary.

"Had to be one you didn't recognize. New. Had to be effective, but unexpected. Took seven months to arrive, prepared carefully."

The hand of cold dread scraped a fingernail down the back of her neck. She traced the hard, stubborn lines of her son's face. He shoved a spoonful of quail eggs with truffle into his mouth, pausing just long enough to fastidiously pick a flake of gold off the egg. Their eyes locked within the silver mirror.

"Your nose," he said, the smile flickering around the corners of his mouth betrayed his pleasure.

She saw it: the tiny crimson bead forming on the tip. She brought her hand up in time to catch the droplet as it fell. It stained the pale palm of her hand. Her blood. She stared at it. She was _bleeding._

She knew her son. She imagined him deliberating. Over the effects. How it would be delivered. He was meticulous and patient. He had always been a reserved, taciturn boy, but expressive in his own way. Poetic, even.

He'd had his pick of poisons, but this choice held a certain meaning. He wanted one that made her bleed.

Ah.

"This is for the three hundred peasants?" She rolled her eyes. "Give or take a few dozen."

Perhaps this was his version of justice. Bless his soft heart.

Edmund's smile withered as he shrunk in his chair. "You - not even the children were spared."

"Where men and steel fail, might we not consider other options, my lords?" She dabbed her nose with serviette. "My exact words. You remember." The cloth crumpled in her hand. "We are winning this war, stupid boy."

Edmund's lips thinned.

"What would you have me do?" She pointed her fork at him even as her shadow in the mirror changed. Her dark ringlets turned straight and light as straw. The fine white silk and fur gown roughened to a dark common petticoat over a faded blue dress. Her pearls were gone. Her gold and rubies missing. Instead of a golden crown, there was just a plain gray ribbon. A low class woman with her face in the mirror struggled to breathe around a bleeding hole in her neck.

_Stop it._

Her shadow smiled, showing bloodstained teeth. She set her fork down and held up her hand in warning. In a blue of movement, her shadow flickered to another mirror in the large dinner hall. She did not like the way Edmund looked at her afterwards.

"The lives of three hundred and two score common folk was worth the lives of three thousand men at the pass." She did not have to convince herself of this. The calculus was sound. "It was cheap."

"Cheap," he echoed.

"What else?" She was beginning to feel pleasantly warm, like those times when she had a bit too much to drink. Two sips of poisoned wine were two sips too many, she supposed. A feeling not unlike a muscle cramp seized her right arm. Out of the corner of her eye, her shadow dissipated into the aether like thick fog burnt away beneath sudden, fierce sunlight. She crushed the bubble of fear welling in her throat.

She was not going to beg him for the antidote.

"Consider the strategy on the field, a company of three hundred that is poorly supported." She resisted the urge to use the food and cutlery to demonstrate tactics. He was no longer that little boy. "A weakness on the flank. The line shatters easily, trampled beneath the force of a single confident charge." She searched her son's face, but it remained blank. Perhaps, she hoped, a bit pensive? "A trap, of course. Few survivors, perhaps none, bit it made the rebels commit to a turnaround into a complete rout. Except this way, my way, is better."

"I lose no knights instead."

"Precisely." Renia's hand fluttered to her goblet, and then shied away when she remembered what lurked in it. Another bead of blood fell against her lip. "Merely the elderly. Unlikely to survive the winter and unable to meaningfully contribute. Craven men."

"Women and children." His voice was tight.

"Would an occupying army be any kinder to them?" They wouldn't. She knew that. "Their homes would be raided. Their crops and grain taken. Any pretty enough girl over thirteen - "

Her son cut her off. "I understand."

"Do you?" She scoffed. "Your father used to say the same thing." Her eyes drifted to the empty chair at the head of the table. The empty plate and untouched cutlery. "He never understood." She dragged her eyes away. "What have we really lost? In exchange, we still hold the mountain pass before the first snows. Three thousand and more knights are battle ready and the rebellion lost twice and more the number. We won time."

She kept her voice even and controlled. She would not seem desperate, or worried. No footholds. Weakness was death. "Was it not worth it?"

Seven months to arrive, her mind whispered. Her son was not impulsive. He must have ordered it by courier, discretely enough to escape her notice. It could not have been sudden, not some visceral response to unpleasantness. Impulse and haste were hard to conceal. She would have noticed. She must have.

Her son _poisoned_ her.

"Consider a strategy in politics," Edmund ventured. "A rebellion into its second year threatens my crown. I would know why. Not conjecture. Not speculation. No propaganda. The truth."

What he was alluding to escaped her for several moments. The truth?

His eyes dropped to his lap. With guilt?

"You snuck away," she whispered as realization dawned. "You let me believe a traitor had leaked your convoy route. You let me believe you were being _held hostage_, tormented, dead for _weeks_ just to -"

She reigned herself in.

"I suppose I should be pleased to know how much you value your..._curiosity._" She smiled thinly. "And how little you value my concern."

Edmund smiled his father's smile. A little too wide and vapid, even as bright wolf eyes narrowed behind wrinkling eyelids.

"It was an adventure," he said quietly, twisting the golden rings on his fingers. "I heard their grievances personally."

"They had much to say, I am sure," she replied. "Did you meet him? The bastard they would have as king?"

A farmer's son turned soldier who couldn't even read a newspaper from the Capital over her son, taught and trained to rule from birth. A peasant with nothing to his name but a marked sword and gold hair.

_Hypocrite,_ a voice in her mind whispered.

Her son nodded miserably. "He looks like father, from the pictures."

Yes, he did.

Absently, her left hand rose to trace the slightest raised surface of the scar beneath her dress. Over her heart, the rough tissue ended where the smooth, faceted contours of a large ruby began.

She hoped he was still _suffering._

Poison. Steel. The hangman's noose and the burning stake. It was all the same.

"Tell me, did they offer any proof of their claims?" She let her gaze lazily drift around the room, as if she was only asking to be thorough. She was not concerned. She was not worried. She had to look as if she was prepared to dismiss the rebels, because they had nothing worth paying attention to.

The wine burned in her stomach.

"Was not interested in their proof." Her son grabbed his own goblet, slouching in his chair as he gently rolled the cup in his hand. "More interested in our proof. Finding it, on this end."

"Posture." It came out automatically.

Careless. Somewhere, some when, she had become careless. Maybe she had always been careless, ever since she had first held the tiny babe in her arms. She trusted too easily. Hoped for too much.

But it was her son.

Her _son _poisoned her.

Careless.

Sorceresses can never afford to be.

"Gradon or Eddins can be blamed for a strike within the palace. Regardless of motive, they did rebel." Edmund shrugged his shoulders, as if suggesting helplessness. "Wasn't just Pietr, was it? Not just Rurin. Gorbechov. Engel. Vieterin. They all saw something. They all _knew_ something."

His eyes searched her face. The poison had taken seven months to arrive, she remembered. Her son was never hasty, but meticulous. Patient. Deliberate. Nothing stemmed the tide of horror welling within her.

Her son poisoned her.

"You have been very _lucky_, haven't you, Mother?"

"Lucky," she repeated dully. A tremor ran down her right arm with the tiny clinking of gold chain. Beneath her fork, the succulent venison rotted. Another droplet of blood fell from her nose.

His yellow eyes darted towards her cup of poisoned wine. He said nothing.

"Lord Maxwell," she forced herself to speak. "Was that you?"

He gestured with his hands, palms facing up as if in supplication. "He seemed a good man."

"A loyal one," she murmured. She had wondered. At times her thoughts had kept her awake at night, drinking spirits and broken promises. A tragic accident, she had thought. Medicine was not yet an exact science. Allergic reactions were mysteries to her. He had been...kind to her. He had not wanted to be involved, and she had tried to indulge him.

It made things more difficult. It slowed some things down. A few extra steps to plans for no other purpose than giving her 'uncle' plausible deniability. She had _tried._

She looked up into her son's calm visage.

_Oh, you stupid girl._

"It was a shame what happened to him." He leaned forward in his chair. "I _am_ sorry."

"Edmund." She felt tired. The flowers on the table wilted. "What do you want?"

"No more deals. No more bargains." He frowned. "One more murder in my name." He looked up at her through his eyelashes, as he tended to do when seeking approval. "And we all get what we want. Peace. Would it not be worth it?"

She could see it.

For the royalists, the death of the Queen Regent would mean they would get their boy king. On the heels of a royal death, they could keep him separated and secure. The Council of Lords re-established and a monarch to control and manipulate. It mattered not whether it would be as simple as they hoped.

For the rebels, the death of the heathen sorceress. They say she murdered the Crown Prince Eldbert. She was sure some accounts embellished their deaths with how the vile witch fed her demons with the blood of his wife and children.

If only she had.

Instead, the child she missed was leading the angry mob that wanted her head.

And for Edmund himself?

"Short term, the assassination of a high ranking official would provide revitalization of morale and purpose," he answered easily. "People understand vengeance."

He placed an odd emphasis on that word. _Vengeance._

The empty chair at the head of the table mocked her.

Regicide was a complicated crime.

She would know.

Not enough friends. Too many enemies. It was how all monarchs fell.

"Vengeance, for aught as ephemeral and unsure as peace?" She asked slowly. Some insanity, some hysterical panic was bubbling in her throat. She could laugh, she thought. She could laugh, but as soon as she did, she would start screaming.

"An unset goal cannot be reached," Edmund admonished her gently. "Peace is a goal like any other. It can be worked towards through smaller, simple goals." His eyes flickered to her poisoned goblet of wine once more. "One more murder in my name."

The moment of silence seemed to stretch into infinity.

_She could kill him_, she realized. She blinked, slowly, as she considered it.

Edmund cut a proud figure in his white military uniform. His black boots had shined with polish when he walked into the dining room with his white and black officer's cap tucked under an arm. The pale blue sash across his chest highlighted the medals gleaming on his chest. The silver hilt of Andale sheathed at his hip like it had adorned the belt of his father before him.

It would not take much. She had to only move her right arm, gilded in the golden chain and rubies of her Arcanum, and a shadow would punch through his chest or crush his head.

She would be free.

Free to walk away from this _wretched_ empire until Eldbert's whelp died of age or sickness. She could leave the palace, exchange her silks and pearls for rough spun cotton. Bury the magic and become no one. In time, no one would remember the sorceress.

The rebellion had served to gorge her demons on blood and suffering, so there should be no complaints on that front. It would only be another generation or two. She could wait. She had been patient before, she could be again. She had the time.

It would solve everything. It would be easy.

Edmund saw it in her eyes. His own widened as he shot to his feet, knocking over his chair as the silver chime of Andale's edge being drawn rang loud.

She smiled at him. "You've gotten faster."

"Mother," he whispered. His arms trembled as he leveled the blade and she knew he saw her. He thought he knew what he was dealing with. He thought he understood. His mind knew what his heart did not. For all that she was the same woman that nursed him at her breast, who read him stories as a child and soothed his hurts, who taught him strategy and how to hear the words unsaid, who stood beside him as his father was entombed and hid his tears from the harsh glares of the court, for all that she was his mother.

She was a sorceress.

For the first time in his life, he saw his mother for what she was. He finally feared her. "Without me, you have nothing."

Her laugh startled both of them. "Without you, I have the world."

It would be so easy and it was only right. Any other, man, woman or child, would have already died.

It hurt to _breathe._

In the silver reflection on the wall behind her, a shimmering tear in the world snapped open. Her right arm spasmed, shattering her chair to wooden fragments as she threw herself backwards. Andale sung as it slashed through the air. He _had_ gotten faster, she thought idly, as a shadow stepped within her son's guard and - her heart skipped a beat and froze, she _couldn't_ \- backhanded him across the face with just enough strength to snap his head left.

She turned slightly, just enough to see green in the corner of her vision as her reflection examined the tear. It glowed emerald, small ripples shivering over its surface giving it the illusion of substance as it hung suspended in the air behind her, to the right.

Edmund raised a hand to his face as he shook his head, wiping the blood from his lip. Another crimson bead fell from her nose. When no crawling mass squirmed free of the green, she took a shallow, tense breath and raised her right hand.

"I could have killed you," she told herself as her gaze swept over her son's granite expression.

"_Do it,_" he hissed. A blackened leaf fell into his soup as the flowers turned to dust. A hot feeling writhed in her stomach. Her throat burned as she swallowed and another droplet of blood stained her white dress. "Do it!"

"So eager to die?" she drawled. For a moment, she saw his uncle. The same tawny hair and amber eyes with a sword stained red with her blood. She forced the vision away.

"There were other ways," she continued as the fingers of her right hand curled into claws, and bloody lines opened up on Edmund's cheek. The boy let out a pained breath. "You could have confined me to my rooms, perhaps. A prison room, gilded or bare." A dull pain was beginning to pulse at her temples.

"I would have allowed it," she lied. "Had you but informed me of your…"

She was at a loss for words trying to describe _this,_ but Edmund wasn't.

_"__My soft heart_," her son murmured bitterly. His eyes flickered to the empty seat at the head of the table.

"Quite so."

He shook his head. "If we were reversed, would you have just sent me to my rooms?"

"Yes," she said, but after a moment she relented. "After I had you crippled. Mangled your hands and crushed the bones in your arms." His father would have turned pale, coughing as he changed the subject. Her boy had never batted an eyelash, and he didn't start now. She eyed him, considering. "Perhaps I would have had your eyes burned out as a precaution."

Pain was an important part of the process.

"You would have removed my Arcanum, buried it in a vault after you had it melted down," he offered, reminding her of the nights where she could couch scenarios to him under the night sky, challenging him to solve them.

She scoffed. "That goes without saying. A sorcerer without a foci is much more manageable."

It was his turn to eye her, sweeping her right arm from the ruby in her palm to the golden clasp at her shoulder.

"My mistake," he admitted easily.

Something was smothering her heart and a lead ball had nestled at the base of her throat. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears. Her vision blurred as she turned away from him.

Without him, she had _nothing._

The tear was silent and still, behind her and to the right. Demons were not patient creatures, as a rule. It it were not for something to come out, then perhaps it was for something, or someone, to go in.

Руин?

She lowered her right arm. Her nose began to run freely as the white tablecloth turned to ash, coating the table with grey. Control, she insisted. Control. Control.

A painful spasm twitched her right arm. The dining hall decorations came to life, and then died. Porcelain birds with jeweled eyes bled shadows from opened throats. Stained glass insects fluttered and shattered as golden vines strangled rotting ebony trees. White marble deer pitted as jade frogs on silver lily pads bloated over brackish water.

Muted horror flashed over her son's face. His grip on Andale's hilt tightened.

"He told me," Edmund said. "He told me there was nothing to you but _misery."_

Behind her, and to the right.

"He was wrong," she replied quietly. "There was you."

Her shadows leapt eagerly to her command as she flung herself backwards. Back, and to the right.

She was prepared for it to hurt. Passing through an edge in reality had always _scraped. _The horizon would scratch and claw at her skin until it was rubbed raw and bloody. The stench of that crimson flow would then attract predators from in between who would gash, rend and claw their way under her skin.

She was prepared, and felt nothing.

She passed through the boundary too easily. The realm was quiet. Still. There were no demons. No whispers, no choking shadows or thick, clotted blood filled her mouth. No horrors attempted to crawl into her head through her eyes, mouth or ears.

Руин!

Her cry echoed out into an abyss. There was no response. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

She fell.

A jolt. An impact of nothing to _something_ jarred her skeleton and in that moment, she gagged and tasted blood. There was cool air. It smelled like wet grass and tasted of rain. A slight chill too warm for late autumn seeped through the layers of her dress. She could feel the sun that should have been long set above. How far — ?

_The world exploded._

The ground beneath her feet instantly cratered, dropping her into a hole of pulverized mud. A flash of pain from her left ankle. Miss? Warning shot that shouldn't have been anywhere _close._

_Sniper's bullet,_ a whisper hissed. _Crossbow man's bolt._

_Projectiles,_ she snapped back. She reached with her right hand, to the left and above, into the thick smoke billowing up from the ground. _Arrows. Cannon shot. Rocks. Weapons launched or thrown. S_he tightened her grip._That was our deal._

The whisper keened an ear-splitting peel. _Not magic!_

Magi—

_Reach!_ She swept her right hand forward and down. She twisted the smoke in her grasp and gripped the ruby in the center of her palm. _Find the mage._

The loyal ones, the familiar ones – no, they wouldn't do. It was the _quick_ ones that exploded out from the rubies of her Arcanum into the smoke around her. She could see the dust and air coalesce into a twisted amalgam of a creature with a hundred searching arms, solid as a shadow. They coiled first, like a snake in the grass as she slowly stood in the crater, testing her ankle.

It was a poorly executed ambush, part of her noted. No following salvos. And how could they? The first one had completely obscured her from sight with smoke. They lost sight of a _sorceress._

It took an impressive amount of incompetence to launch an ambush and make things worse for yourself.

The snake of smoke struck. In a flash of movement, it lunged through the haze. A female screeched in utter surprise and —

Surprise. There was no fear.

And she sounded _young._

_Addendum._ She moved her hand from the right to the left. _Bring the mage to me._

She felt her demons test the geas. Pull. Tug. The corner of her lips tugged with it as she wrenched her grip tight. A squeal of pain erupted from the smoke, a discordant clang unfit for human throats.

_Please._ She implored them. _Test me again._

A shape smaller than it should have been rocketed through the smoke on the heels of an unnaturally strong wind and an alarmed bark. Adult male voice. Another mage, left unmolested of course. Find the mage had been her order. Mage, singular.

She thought she had broken these ones of that.

She reached forward, again, left. She had to incapacitate the second quickly, before the first recovered fro —

Mages.

As the last of the smoke dissipated, she saw at least thirty standing all about her in matching uniforms. Young men and women with wooden foci stared at her with varying expressions of shock on their faces. Beasts of all kinds stood at their sides.

She categorized them, skipping over the weaker ones not suited to combat. She would need to distract them. Break them. The demon that looked like an eye first. Kill the master, let it rampage in its new found freedom —

_"__S'il vous plaît!"_

She bit the inside of her cheek as the adult mage kept speaking. The words were alien, but she recognized the tone.

Pleading.

Begging for his comrade's life? _At a thirty to one advantag_e? She dropped her eyes, quickly to the first mage. She cursed herself for a fool as soon as she took her eyes of him.

_Stupid girl, it's a trap —_

A prepubescent girl with salmon hair gawked up at her in white-faced shock. She snapped her eyes up even as she swung her Arcanum down and left, halting as the balding male mage before her tensed.

The mages behind him, one and all. They were _children._

And each and every one of them had nothing but shock, awe and surprise on their faces.

She schooled her own expression, slowly softening from naked aggression, to confused wariness. The castle in the background. She didn't recognize it. She couldn't see the mountains.

She flicked her wrist. Right, down, right. The oily presence pressed in against her mind and slithered through her thoughts.

There was no accompanying burst of insight, not even a glimmer of recognition. She was hyper-aware of the bead of blood gathering on the tip of her nose as the air seemed to get colder, oppressive.

_How can you not know?_

She felt her demon take hold of her mind.

_What is it?_

The girl.

_Of course._

She returned her eyes to the man. She let her body relax as she slowly lowered herself to crouch. She knelt in the mud by the child. The hair color went straight to the roots and was shared by the eyebrows. Natural. The child's eyes were still large, unshed tears gathering at the corners.

She gently wiped her nose free of blood and flashed the girl a warm smile. "Can you understand me?"

What came out of the child's mouth was a panicked stream of gibbering that sounded vaguely Verdun. Vaguely. She could only guess at the meaning of one word out of ten, as if she spoke with some bastardized dialect. By the tone, it was an apology. Many apologies. She cut off the flow by raising her left hand.

The oil slick reached out from her and slithered into the child's ear. There were no cries of alarm from the others. No one attacked. They could not see. They could not perceive living nightmares. For all their magic, not a single one was Awake?

How was that possible?

With a thought, the demon seized hold of the girl's mind. She met those strangely colored eyes, silently conveying sympathy.

_This will hurt._

And it did hurt. Like liquid lightning crackling through her head, searing all that was in its path and leaving behind impressions. Burning sights. Booming sounds. Strange words.

She grasped them greedily, desperate to keep the knowledge, to remember. She could not allow herself to forget anything. She could not let anything slip. It might be important. It could be crucial. It would be just like it to hide something vital in the deluge of —

_Pain._

She grit her teeth. Focus. Control. Control.

The contract only went as far as providing her with it. The demon was under no obligation to make sure she kept it.

Pain shared is pain halved, was that not the saying? It was not true. Knowing the abnormally young mage was in just as much agony was just a constant itch and reminder that she would have to deal with the aftermath once she had the information she needed.

Do not think about it, she told herself. She could not afford distractions.

The memory she was digesting vanished in a crack of strange _acidic_ magic that numbed her to her very fingertips. It welled up from underneath, burying the flood of information like brackish water surging past its bed. Interference. Was the girl resisting the mind delve? _Successfully?_

In response she held onto the child's mind tighter.

_Not much longer_, she offered. She could not expect the girl to understand what was happening, or why, but it could not hurt to reassure her. _I do not need much more._

It did not matter. The next memory snapped at her and the numbness became burning. She was forced to remember the ill-fated attempt with Eldbert's whelp. No, no there was nothing more for her here.

The oily presence swelled indignantly, jealous. More knowledge. More. There was still more to be had.

_Be my guest._

She released it, completely. The tenuous thread between them snapped with a tingle resonating from her Arcanum. She was only marginally aware of the demon pausing as it realized the connection between them had been severed as she pulled out of the child's mind. Defensive action, now. She was reaching —_left and down!_

The world exploded.

This time, and so close, it did not miss.

Ninety-nine voices wailed in unison, disbelieving, dripping with agony as something like heat and something like force crashed into her mercilessly. The air was crushed out of her lungs as that acidic magic passed through her, cruel barbs invisibly penetrating her skin, latching onto whatever it could. Almost as if it were trying to —

The barbs found no footholds. They tore through instead, leaving her aching and breathless. Her vision swam as her head pounded. She looked down at herself.

Unmarked.

Unscathed?

Heat. Shape.

_"__Miss Vallière!"_ the adult mage barked harshly. The noise went off in her head like a gunshot. She recoiled from his presence — _when did he move?_ — and felt her gorge rise in protest. Her body betrayed her as she turned aside and vomited. It tasted of iron and copper. She tried to spit out the blood and only ended up coughing up more. Her fingers curled into the mud as the food in her stomach turned into glass shards. Her left hand came up to cover her mouth, futilely trying to hold back the red stream as it leaked through her lips.

Magic eaters. She had forgotten.

Get up. _Get up!_

Two sips too many. The thought was blurry and slow. She felt incredulous. Two sips. And he had given her an entire goblet of the poison...was that _really necessary?_

Get. Up!

_Weakness was death._

The first of them twisted free of her grip even as she reached for it. Her arm split open into a sanguine stream that quickly stained the white of her sleeve red. _No!_ It — another rent her side and burrowed. She struggled to keep her breath even as her back tore open with a lancing pain. Her Arcanum burned cold against her skin, even as they seeped beneath it, crawling like worms into her veins.

They were greedy. Impatient.

_You are __**killing **__me —_

Seventy-three voices answered. _Pain. Pain!_ They were panicked, scared. Seventy-three? She could not feel the rest. Gone? _Gone._

_How!_

She made to rise.

Deal with the child first. What had she _done_ — her leg gave way the moment she put weight on it, sending her tumbling back into the mud. _Weakness was death._ She could feel the mud against her face, getting into her hair, clinging to the white fur of her cloak unevenly.

That morning, she sat on the throne. Now she laid in a grassy courtyard, surrounded by gawking whelps who had been _born_ with their damned magic, magic common enough to be _taught._ And they could see her struggle in the dirt and see her fall. In a blind moment, she _hated _them.

_Do not look at me!_

If she could only —

The darkness at the corners of her vision swiftly closed in.

* * *

**/0/0/0/0/0/0**

* * *

The beautiful golden crown set with pearls and a single ruby jostled free from dark ringlets of hair when the woman hit the ground. It rolled. Down a slight incline, picking up traces of mud and shredded grass along the way until it finally tipped. It landed with a slight 'plop' because why wouldn't crowns plop? It laid there innocently, as if it were just a shiny band of metal set with pretty stones.

As if everything hadn't gone horribly wrong.

With shaking fingers, Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière reached out and picked it up.

It was bitterly cold to the touch.


	2. Chapter 2

_**QUEEN OF RUIN**_

* * *

The Imperial Ballroom dazzled.

Every white marble pillar lining the walls held sparkling crystal sconces lit with gaslights under flame shaped glass as false candles. Gold leaf and plated silver vines crawled up ebony trees, sprouting red marble flowers and jade leaves with diamond dew drops. Tiger eye figs and agate dates hung from dark branches. Jeweled fruits dangled as small chandeliers scattering light in colored arrays on the floor. The jeweled canopy gathered at the base of the domed ceiling where porcelain doves with outstretched wings nestled.

The ceiling itself was painted with the Vision of Mercy gracing St. Iskra by the ocean. Pale blue waves capped in enamel swept against marbled cliffs. The saint was barefoot and badly proportioned, twisted and contorted as she reached up for her blessing. The artist's rendition of the two-faced goddess was cruel. Mercy looked down at Iskra with a sneer on its bronze face and Justice stared coldly at the people on the ballroom floor below.

She exhaled a shallow breath. She remembered falling. She remembered grass and mud and..._mages._

This was a dream then. She closed her eyes and let her mind drift, searching for that spot of light in the darkness. She reached and reached, until she could feel the world turn underneath her and tasted the blood on her tongue.

_Oh._

She was dying, she realized.

She swallowed the taste of copper and iron as she opened her eyes. The curving designs on the rosewood baldachin over her throne beckoned her gaze. If she were but ten centimeters taller, as tall as the queen before her, it would have shielded her from the Vision of Justice's stare.

A grim, little smile played on her face. The queen before her died sitting here, beneath the goddess' judgment. This ballroom had been unused for decades, until a new queen had been married and crowned. Until her.

It was just as she remembered it. The last time the ballroom at the Summer Palace had seen use was...the Imperial Crown Prince's nameday. Edmund had turned thirteen, she recalled. The spring before…

She could choke on the irony.

The orchestra was playing a tune from a composer she hated. All his refrains sounded similar, with an overuse of wind instruments, misplaced percussion and melodramatic themes. The kind of drivel one could expect from a drunkard that gambled his fortune away, and plied gold from the Crown by sharing the same war stories over and over again. He was a childhood friend of the Emperor, and the Emperor always took care of his _friends._

She made the mistake of letting her eyes drift to her right at the thought, towards the ironwood and gold throne with the swooping sculpture of the Imperial Eagle perched on the back.

His Grand Imperial Majesty, Eadred the Merciful of Rutenia glanced back at her.

"I _like _his compositions, Renia." he said with exaggerated indignation before he held out a hand. "Dance with me?"

His amber eyes highlights by crow's feet were playful, with that lopsided puppy smile that belonged on a younger man's face. His gold hair had long since turned silver at his temples. He, like his father and his father's father, was dressed in white, gold and imperial blue with his many medals of office decorating his chest. A red parade sash lined with gold bisected his chest from his right shoulder to his left hip and laugh lines etched his face.

The hand he held out to her was trembling in its white glove and she knew that meant he abstained from his medication that morning. It made him feel sick, he would say. But he would take it, if she asked. If she insisted, he would take any pills she gave him.

It did not hurt to see him like this.

However, there was a vague sense of nostalgia for simpler times. The glimmering ballroom around the dancing crowd of richly dressed nobility was a tempting image of how everything used to be. Before the war.

Before everything.

She could indulge in the dream, just this once. The empty smile she wore for her husband slipped onto her face as she took his hand. She let him pull her up from the throne and glanced over her shoulder.

Edmund was doing a poor job of hiding his boredom, slumped as he was in his seat to her left. A smart grey jacket and fur cap rakishly tilted on his blond mop. Once he realized she was looking, his eyebrows shot up questioningly.

She motioned with her eyes down below to the floor where a legion of noble daughters loitered.

The blood drained from the boy's face. She raised an eyebrow. He shook his head frantically. Her husband chuckled, having caught the byplay.

"Let the boy be this time."

"You always say that," she murmured as she took the first steps.

_You win, _she thought with resigned bitter fury. _In the end, he was his father's son, after all._

The looks were suffocating. She could hear the swell of conversation as more people turned to observe, to see the royal couple descend to the ballroom floor. This was his moment, the Emperor sharing acknowledging nods with dukes and barons, a shallow bow for their wives or daughters and a warm smile.

The attention made her skin crawl.

Haran Bariv, wealthy merchant lord who always laughed at her husband's jokes and dressed down to affect humility. Tax dodger who hid his wealth in numerous enterprises. The back taxes alone could have —

She took a shallow breath and forced herself to extend her hand for his lips to ghost over. She did not have to force the smile.

He died screaming as a soul bound to a rotting sack of meat given to the dogs, long after she had wrung every hidden cache, every black market connection and _every bloody secret_ from his corpse.

Her husband would have insisted on a trial. Edmund would have insisted on a trial. They would have trusted the courts and at worst, ensure a clean, honorable death.

She was not them.

Loyalists and traitors alike vied for the Emperor's attention, halting their progress to the floor as the man indulged each and every one.

"You are too kind," she said softly as soon as the latest petitioner stepped away, satisfied with the compromises the Emperor _always _made.

"One cannot be too kind," Eadred answered stiffly. He must have heard a note he didn't like in her voice. He patted the arm she had around his condescendingly. "Cooperation, trust, honor. These are tools civilization must make use of to grow and remain standing. What is a society without these? Pointless anarchy."

"Society is structured through monopoly of force," she countered. She remembered this conversation. "Kind laws are worthless laws."

"The law is toothless if people do not trust its judgment is fair and works for the good of all."

_You poor boy, _she thought as she took in the mulish set to Eadred's jaw. She should have told him, perhaps. The full and unedited details of every whisper in the dark. Instead of photos with wounded veteran knights, she should have brought him to a small village outside these glittering golden walls and shown him exactly how many friends he had outside the capital.

Perhaps, she should have, but she did not and he died a stubborn fool. He trusted and compromised to the grave, but he had his honor to the very last. To allow him that was a peculiar kind of grace.

A mercy.

"I'll not be cruel, Renia," Eadred said with finality.

"Of course not," she agreed easily. "Cruelty is counterproductive. It is not only unnecessary, but creates more problems than it could ever solve."

He raised his eyebrows skeptically, as if he couldn't believe what she said or couldn't believe that she was the one saying it.

The real Eadred would never have responded like that. He would have laughed as if she had said something especially witty and then agree wholeheartedly. The way he always did when she said something he thought technically correct, but was bothered by the delivery and lacked the words to explain why.

Was this not her dying dream? Instead of envisioning the man as she knew him to be, perhaps her subconscious had altered him.

Sometimes she thought he had known a little. Knew enough. Enough to know these were not hypotheticals or thought exercises, enough to suspect. Eadred had adored her and that made him blind.

Sometimes, she thought he knew.

"To invite the liar to lie to you, the cheater to cheat you, the murderer to kill you is not kindness." He had done all three. She lowered her voice. "And to defend yourself is not cruel."

He lowered his in turn and with the uncommon flash of insight asked, "Who am I to defend myself against?"

The look he was giving her was so soft, she felt vaguely offended. "I did not stop one rebellion for you to lose your fool head to another."

"You sound like Maxwell," Eadred accused.

"My uncle is a wise man." She smiled at this even as something inside her withered. She had _tried._

Eadred huffed. "Enough of this talk, I wish for my queen to dance with me."

She accepted the change of subject. "You will, of course, forgive me for breaking your toes again."

He coughed and cleared his throat with a rumble. "If we can avoid a repeat, that would be much appreciated."

She smiled her empty smile for the host on the ballroom floor looking in their direction and pretended she couldn't hear the snide, prickling remarks about the bastard woman who dared marry a king.

Once, she would have tormented herself over the slights to her petty pride. She hadn't been that girl in a very long time.

"You will do fine," her husband soothed, reaching for her other hand as he took the starting position.

"Do not patronize me, Eadred. I know what I am not capable of." And what she never bothered learning. "What song is it?"

"Fifth Movement of a Lark in Spr —"

She was already groaning.

"Would it help if I kept time?" He asked gently.

"No."

He planted a jaunty kiss on her brow, raising their hands. "And one!"

The dance whirled past her in an array of silks, laces, gleaming buttons, jeweled pins and bold colors. The carved window panes whisked by, the stained-glass patterns seemed to blur as she lost track of the details in a vain attempt to remember what foot went where. She made mistakes. She knew she did. Knew it as soon as she moved with the familiar cringe of her stomach and heat in her throat as the Vision of Justice judged her from above.

Eadred never faltered. He compensated almost flawlessly, leaving her fingers a little too squeezed as he fought for balance. Were this truth and not fiction, she suspected he would have had marks on his palms from the ruby in her right palm tomorrow morning, but when it ended he was smiling and she was staring at his miraculously pristine boots.

He lifted her unadorned hand and gently kissed her knuckles. "Thank you for the dance, _Valeriya_."

The bottom of her stomach dropped out.

Renia averted her eyes to memorize the image of her son in his spring jacket and fur cap, slouching in his seat a step below his father's throne.

True Names weren't for humans.

Only demons.

"Have you come to collect, Руин?"

The music died. The guests disappeared. A thick layer of dust settled on the floor, the window carvings and on the white cloth draped over unused furniture shoved into the corners. Ugly pits marked the walls were chisels in greedy hands had scrabbled at the gold and gems. Shattered glass glittered on the floor alongside scorch marks made from thrown bottles bursting with flaming alcohol.

The dais holding the thrones stood lonely atop the stairs, the crimson upholstery grey with dust. Edmund's seat was covered with a featureless tarp. The stained glass doors smashed open by desperate dignitaries and common staff alike led to the hanging balcony perched over the edge of seaside heights as a fashionable, lethal dead end.

She swallowed the painful lump in her throat as her nose tickled. Yes, this was...accurate. Their son's thirteenth nameday was the last Eadred lived to see.

The demon wearing her late husband's face dropped her hands and she shivered as her palms met cold, stale air. Her Arcanum had vanished along with the guests. Gone was the gold chain sleeve studded with dark rubies. The asymmetric sleeves of her ball gown did nothing to his the exposed scarring on her right arm.

The written terms of her contract.

Ink and paper could burn and degrade. Words were wind. Stone could break and crumble. Blood and flesh, however, demons valued that.

"Not yet, sorceress." It's breath stunk of a corpse. "Not yet."

Her arms came up to wrap around her as she bit back the cry. She could have wept from the relief. She blinked rapidly to make sure she didn't.

Eadred's false body trailed a finger down the scars.

"You lost twenty-six," the demon observed. Amber eyes that father and son shared harsh and cold.

"I absolved one of its obligations because it was an imbecile." Her voice did not waver. That was good. "It pursued an independent interest despite warning. I am not responsible for death by stupidity."

Technically, she was, but by the terms of the agreement, it was not a punishable offense.

She had been very thorough.

It cocked Eadred's head to the side in a sudden, alien motion. "And the other twenty-five, sorceress."

Her mouth opened and for a terrifying moment, nothing came out. "I - I do not know."

She flinched back when it hissed. It was a whisper of air that slid across her neck, and a reverberating undertone that shook the walls.

"There was a girl, a mage."

Pink hair, pink eyes.

"Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière." The name rolled off her tongue. It triggered recollections. Halkgekinia. Tristain. Images, sounds, feelings, with the abstract reality common to dreaming.

In a blur of movement, the demon snatched up her left hand. She recoiled, eyes already squeezing shut as she braced herself for the pain. When it did not come, she opened them again to see Eadred's eyes boring into the back of her hand as if the unmarked skin offended him.

She enshrined the moment into memory. It did nothing without a reason. Twenty-six lost. Did the girl banish them? _Kill them_? Could they even _be_ killed?

Can she kill you, Руин?

"Louise," it murmured. After a long moment, she was released.

"Where am I, Руин?"

It smiled toothily, Eadred's face splitting open in a seam of blackened necrotic gums with fish hook blood stained teeth.

"You already know, sorceress." It whispered. "The name of this country, the name of this continent is known to you."

"Where am I, Руин?"

"Far aware from your petty kingdom, but still in my reach."

She took a breath, and with her left hand felt along the lines carved into her right arm. She took a risk. "Руин, где я?"

It slapped her.

White hot pain raked across her face with cruel, barbed talons. She watched Eadred's hand come away with bloody strips and her left eye speared on a nail. She reflexively paralyzed her own vocal chords, so that it would not hear her scream. She turned her head, to hide the smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.

A mundane answer, an easy answer, and she would have gambled for nothing. She would have wasted it.

"You grow bold, sorceress."

_Yes, _she thought. _Twenty-six demons you bound to me are lost. For once, the weakness is not mine._

She could feel cold air on the inside of her left nostril, stinging. Blood dripped down the side of her face as it howled in agony. She was half blind, an ice pick of pain echoing from the back of a vacant eye socket into the rest of her skull.

Tolerable.

Fairly mild, as far as warnings go.

Demons played tricks, yes. They cajoled, they wheeled, they squirmed through every loophole, every crack, every ounce of leniency, but in the end, a bargain well made was one well kept.

That did not make them safe.

"Perhaps," she gritted out after relaxing the paralysis on her throat. "I believe it is the fifth clause."

"Protesting a little pain?" It cajoled with Eadred's voice. The Emperor loomed over her. His shadow engulfed hers, the giant. She had always hated it when he did that. A useless, childish reaction she never grew out of.

"We have a contract. Three times the question, three answers."

It reached for her and she fought the flinch as it gently turned her around and stepped closer. Eadred's chest met her back. It slid a claw along her neck, brushing back her dark hair and leaving behind an icy sting.

"You want to play?" It asked her with her husband's voice.

The pain was a searing throb. Her vision halved and covered with moving shadows and bright spots of light. She felt light headed and at the same time more grounded than she had ever been. She needed that third answer. She cared not what it was, only what it chose not to say.

What was this place that could strip a sorceress of her demons?

"Yes, let's play."

"You do not wish to know how to return?" It breathed hot in her ear.

A cold ache blossomed in her chest. Blood on her tongue. What awaited her, were she to return? To the rebellion calling for her death, to spineless sycophants, to venomed snakes hiding poison behind smiles.

To her son, and a goblet of wine.

"Answer or forfeit," she snapped.

"I will have my question now," it declared instead.

She scoffed openly and nearly regretted it when her torn eye socket pulled. "When you have yet to answer yours?"

"Question for question, answer for answer." It fell back on Eadred's rough baritone. She wished it would stop. She wished it would use its own voice, take its own form. An idle wish. Руин borrowed shapes like a vain noblewoman changed clothes. It never imitated an unknown person, never someone she was unfamiliar with.

She gestured with her right hand. "Ask your question then."

"Eadred Ferand Ruten the Merciful," it began. Renia's stomach had already started twisting. "Did you consider sacrificing your ambition for him?"

"I sacrifice my ambitions for no one."

That was one.

It was a dangerous question.

It repeated the question.

"He had little I wanted I could not take, and little to offer that I wanted. My kingdom in exchange for a weak king is a poor bargain."

That was two.

The third repetition.

Renia faltered. She could not repeat an answer, not even by rewording it. She could insinuate, deflect, misdirect, obfuscate and more, but in the end, she must answer the question.

Had she considered?

"I did, once."

A moment of uncertainty. That was all it was. An idle mind wondering what ifs as time marched on to the steady rhythm of rain on the windows and the struggling gasps of a dying king.

"Where am I, Руин?"

The demon stepped forward with Eadred's white gloved hands reaching out. It fastidiously cleared her forehead of her hair, the way Eadred used to before it bent as if to plant a kiss on her forehead.

She closed her eyes. The kiss never landed.

"Lost, sorceress," it whispered. She opened her eyes to an empty abyss. She was waking up. A wrenching, tearing pain speared through her chest. She - she could not breathe!

Renia woke, drowning in blood and water.

Her lungs burned. Her mind spun and tittered with a volatile panic of - air! She needed air! More water was forced into her mouth. It splashed around her teeth and tongue and reached down her throat. She gagged and felt something in her throat ease, before she coughed, sputtering, feeling her eyes and sinus cavities sting with water. Then her stomach flipped.

Someone grabbed her by the back of her neck and pulled her, bending her head before she vomited.

Whatever came up, it tasted vile and felt worse with small chunks of something that _squirmed._

Her skin crawled as she spat it out. Feeling movement on her tongue triggered gag reflexes causing her to vomit again, and again until she had squeezed her stomach into a small, aching ball and rubbed her throat raw.

Panting, she opened her eyes and saw into the bucket as pale, callused hands moved to take it away.

Remains of her dinner. Blood. And what looked like black mold, swollen and thick as it writhed around in the pail.

Her eyes drifted shut as she struggled to control her breathing.

_Edmund._

That boy better _**pray**_ she did not return too soon.

Fingers felt the side of her neck. There was sound. People moving around on a stone floor, some of them with what sounded like fabrics and others with pails of water. Low, methodical droning of instructions and soft acknowledgments.

"_Ha! Resilient, very good! See Colbert?" _

"_Inform the headmaster that his guest has awoken, please."_

"_The sheets must be changed regularly, do not forget! She must have fresh water, temperature checked regularly for fever, be quiet, be quick and by the Founder, mind your manners!"_

"_I have never heard of mold that - "_

"_Careful with the sample. Easy."_

She moved the fingers of her right hand. Small, slight movements, testing. A rough blanket was underneath her fingertips. Her right arm was missing the familiar, cold weight of her Arcanum just as her head lacked the weight of her crown. Ninety-nine rubies missing.

She could hear Edmund.

"_You would have removed my Arcanum, buried it in a vault after you had it melted down."_

She closed her eyes and willed the panic to subside. She settled back into the rough, misshapen pillows. Her lungs expanded and contracted painfully. A burning that spoke of a certain kind of drowning, when the lungs filled with phlegm and fluid. She coughed a wet hacking cough that had another bucket shoved under her nose. She obligingly spat into it and raised her right hand to rub at her chest. Coarse material grated against her fingertips.

Underneath, she could feel the slightly raised scar and the large ruby over her heart.

She laid down again, eyes closed. Someone had changed her clothes. They would have seen it.

Mages, she remembered.

Not a single one Awake.

She moved her index finger and a weight fluttered to settle on her shoulder. A sorceress with no demons was no sorceress at all.

_Show me the room, _she ordered.

A moving image bloomed behind her eyelids.

A bland room with stone fixtures and crude wood furnishings. Frames of beds were stacked against the wall beside a small stack of the mattresses in a haphazard way that spoke of haste. Cloudy yellow sunlight streamed in through tall windows. A matronly woman spoke to two younger girls dressed in black and white as they folded sheets between them. Her 'doctor' shuffled by her bed with a face that was dominated by a grey beard and left eye monocle. A wand was in his hand, trailing a stream of water.

Behind him were the other two other mages. A woman with blond hair manipulated water with a wand, encasing a bucket in a globe of water with a look of absent concentration. Her lip was slightly curled and nose wrinkled, as if she caught of whiff of something pungent. Black specks, mold, floated up from the bucket through the surrounding water. The spores gathered at the surface, where a funnel deposited them into a vial the second mage held. A man, balding, glasses with a staff and flame licking over the hand that held the vial. She remembered him.

_Now, Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière. _The weight on her shoulder shifted. It coiled, tensing. She liked this one. Clever, but obedient. Mostly. _Find her._

The weight flitted down her side, crawled over her legs. She could feel it, vaguely at the back of her mind, as it paused at the end of the bed, waiting for the perfect moment to slip to the floor and wind its way to the door. She felt it taste the air currents. The mage with fire and the staff. He had been near the girl recently. It darted to the door and —

Despite her best efforts, sleep stole her attention away.


	3. Chapter 3

_**QUEEN Of RUIN**_

* * *

The Hall of Alviss dining area was as large as it was opulent.

It boasted a high ceiling, patriotic and religious tapestries covered dark stone walls between dark wood pillars capped top and bottom with white marble. Lined along the walls were intricate statues of small people, enchanted to come alive at night. Three large tables that could seat one hundred people each other dominated the room. Servants quietly carried platters and pitchers of rich foods and delicate room was alive with the noise of Tristain's noble class, students one and all under the watchful eye of their instructors.

For all of its accolades and esteemed clientele, the Tristain Academy of Magic was still a school for teenagers, a species not known for tact, intelligence or political acumen. So within two hours, everybody who knew anything had heard the news: during the Springtime Familiar Summoning, Louise de La Vallière had summoned a _queen._

_And then the Zero killed her!_

She couldn't help herself. Kirche snorted.

The speaker turned in his seat. One of these days, she'd be sure to inform Malicorne that he was extra unattractive with his face blotching red like that. He was trying to look down his nose at her. All it did was give him another chin as he puffed red cheeks. Eugh. She waved a dismissive hand.

Pass.

"You saw it! You were there!" He turned back to his audience, throwing his arms open wide. "There was blood everywhere!"

"It was rather gruesome," Guiche de Gramont tossed his head, tussling his blond locks as he placed an elbow on the table and chin in hand. He leaned into the girl at his side, a simpering look on his face. "Are you certain you can stomach this, Mon Mon? You don't still feel faint, do you?"

"It was - " She hesitated, paling. Even her blonde pigtails seemed to quiver with fright. "It was nothing I could not handle," she finished quickly. She pushed peas around on her plate.

Guiche growled. "I knew she was a failure, but I didn't think the Zero could be any more of a catastrophe."

"She can't do anything right," Malicorne bleated. "First her explosions, now this? She's a menace!" He lowered his voice, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Maybe she was going to, you know, contract the _queen_," he hissed. Faces darkened all around. A noble, like them, bound and made to _serve_? Kirche imagined what would happen if her former fiancé managed to summon _her._

He'd be her late fiancé then, she supposed.

"And it failed, like she always does." Suddenly Malicorne banged a fist on the table, startling everyone. "Boom!"

Kirche felt her habitual smile shrink a little as she absently twirled a lock of red hair around her fingers. The woman had been fine before the second explosion. A bit of a bloody nose, but then Louise _had_ blown her up on arrival. After the second one though...

Malicorne had been right about one thing. There had been a lot of blood. That gorgeous white dress ruined. If she were to be honest, it still made her a bit sick to her stomach remembering the scene that morning. The petite woman in the summoning circle lying crumpled on the ground like that utterly still, surrounded by the Academy's water mages. The urgency in their voices and the way they kept trying said nothing good about her chances. The last anyone had seen of Louise's queen, she was floating in Professor Durand's cocoon of bloody water.

"Louise?" She said instead. She leaned back in her chair, arching her back just so over the top of it as she stretched. She could feel the stares drawn to her like metal shavings to a lodestone. "Little Louise couldn't hurt a fly."

"Wounds," Tabitha said quietly, blue hair barely visible over her latest book.

Wounds? Kirche thought back to their exam that morning. Wounds…

Then it clicked.

"Louise isn't a Wind Mage."

At her interruption, Malicorne turned back around. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Think about it, for once." She let her smile become smug. "Maybe Wind with enough force can make someone cough up blood - " She caught the subtle bob of Tabitha's head. _Thanks for the vote of confidence, darling._ "- and leave cuts like that, but if there is one thing her explosions are not, its Wind."

"Well, _water_ does not explode," Montmorency declared stiffly.

Out the corner of her eye, Tabitha turned the page and lifted her right index finger, before settling back on the hard leather cover. The best Kirche could figure, that was Tabitha-speak for _'You're wrong, but I can't be bothered to explain why.'_ If pestered enough, she might offer a few tips on combat magic.

A few. Getting a full answer on anything from Tabitha was like pulling dragon's teeth.

"Fire?" Guiche tried.

Kirche scoffed, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "Fire burns, darling, or my name isn't Kirche Augusta Frederica von Anhalt-Zerbst!" This was a safe topic. The last thing she wanted to be worrying about was what would happen if the queen died. Even worse, what happens if she _lives?_ "She'd be cauterized on the spot, not bleeding like a stuck pig."

"Maybe she is a Wind mage," Malicorne insisted. "Just with no talent at all!"

Kirche rolled her eyes. "She's not the Zero for nothing."

She caught herself pausing, waiting for that predictable outburst.

Nothing.

She frowned a little. Saying it without little Louise just close enough to overhear her just wasn't the same.

Now there was an idea.

Kirche made a little show of looking around. The dining hall was very open and spacious, not at all like the cozy dining of her old school. She could readily admit that it was a bit grander in exchange for being filled with more dunderheads.

You couldn't toss a pin without pricking a noble's fragile ego here.

"Where _is_ La Vallière?"

**_/0/0/0/0/0/0/_**

The parchment hit the floor, covered in blots of ink.

Mechanically, a pink haired girl retrieved another piece and fastidiously positioned it on her desk. She flattened a slightly curling corner and picked up her quill.

_Dear Cattleya_, she wrote. She sat there for a few minutes and then slowly scratched out _Hope this letter finds you well._

It was all she wrote.

She sat there searching for the words. Searching for a way to make her family understand what had happened, for a way to put things as delicately as she could, for a way to be optimistic and find the silver lining in disaster. She searched for a way to absolve her family of all responsibility without cutting ties. She searched a way to make them _believe._

_It's not my fault! I didn't mean to!_

She already knew how her mother would respond to that. Her father and sister Éléonore would not be far behind. Unwanted tears blurred her vision. Frustrated, she used the back of her hand to wipe them away.

_Rule of Steel,_ she thought and recalled how what little steel she inherited from her mother had met cold, blood red eyes under a golden crown.

And _shattered._

She summoned a noble. More than a noble, a _royal_. A leader of a _kingdom_ somewhere out there who had been snatched from her home and then - _white cloth and blood and pain_ \- delivered right to Death's Door. It was a mistake. A stupid mistake from a stupid girl - if that had been Princess Henrietta she summoned to serve her mother would have been the first in line to lop off her head.

_Founder, her mother! What could she say?_

She was still picking up the brittle iron pieces.

She had yet to find any true steel.

Louise bit her lip, blinking away the tears that kept coming. She put her quill to parchment. _I pray this reaches you before any rumors and I_ she paused, adjusting her grip on the quill _beg you to intercede on my behalf with mother and father. I am in dire need of council, but what is done is done._

_I summoned a Familiar._

Her door clicked open, making her jump. "Y-yes?"

She turned her head when the only answer was silence. "Who's there?"

Her door was slowly drifting open, but there was no one on the other side. She expected Professor Colbert again, or a servant with some food. It...she didn't want to go down to the dining hall anyway. She put her quill back into the ink pot and slid out of her chair.

"If it's someone idea of a prank, I'll - " blow them up? _White cloth and blood and pain._ She hadn't been able to touch her wand without feeling ill since that morning. A brush of air touched her right leg, eliciting a small yelp as she reflexively raised the leg, hand going down to slap whatever and whoever's nosy familiar away. Her hand hit bare skin and her room was empty.

She peered out the door into the hallway in both directions. The students were down in the dining hall and the servants were no doubt busy with their errands. Suspicious, Louise investigate her door knob. Then she sighed.

It wasn't like she'd know a broken door knob from any other. She retreated back into her room and firmly shut the door with a loud thud. She returned to her desk and attempted to finish her letter.

Half an hour later, crumpled parchment hit the floor, covered in blots of ink.

Her door clicked open again and with a frustrated scream, tears leaking from her eyes, Louise marched over and slammed the stupid door shut. She stood there, glaring daggers at the door as if daring it to open once more. She ignored the way her shoulders were beginning to shake as she tossed her hair primly and went back to her desk.

She picked up the quill.

_Dear Cattleya._

**_/0/0/0/0/0/0/_**

It was lighter than it looked.

The gold made satisfying tinkling sounds as she lifted the chain mail link sleeve. No one with any sense would make armor out of gold, but it wasn't just gold. The top of each link was crowned with a small, sparkling diamond in a setting made of the same white metal threaded through the center of each loop. Gold was a soft metal, easily dented, but she had a feeling that it would take a lot of force to even nick this. She turned her hand over, listening to the waterfall of gold clinking, and spotted a single line of black running the underside of the sleeve from palm to arm pit. Break the line, break the chain?

The rubies were big. And obvious.

The delicate, silvery script circling each red gem was not. The faint, blue glow even less.

She had a good eye.

And it was telling her that she was holding something _priceless._

"It's cold," she murmured. It was like touching metal frozen in the dead of winter, a cold that burned. She reluctantly let the gold slip through her fingers.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" Professor Colbert offered with a slight smile. "The current thought is that its, well, her 'wand.' A spell casting focus, albeit a much more complicated variant. Imagine if we knew how to bind the capability of a sword-wand to a piece of armor! And this!"

He picked the next item up from the table. It was a double-bladed silver athame with a queer bend to it, the edges curling towards a half moon shape. One edge smooth, the other serrated. A deep fuller cut the center of the knife and even bisected the guard to spill into a hollow circle.

Spill.

Her eyes narrowed in spite of herself. She was only a secretary after all. She shouldn't know a bloodletting tool straight from a vampire's lair from a steak knife.

"I've never seen such a ritual knife. Look!" He tilted the knife to catch the candle light. The metal came alive with moving shadows for a moment. "The craftsmanship is extraordinary, on all of her items! The stitching on the cloth, the metallurgy, the purity of the metals…"

"A nation advanced, rich, large, or all three," Headmaster Osmund speculated, a hint of exhaustion in his voice. An unfinished letter was in front of him, abandoned for a pipe of sweet-smelling smoke. "Strange that we've yet to hear of such a kingdom."

"The prevalence of pearls does seem to suggest access to the sea." Colbert's gaze traveled to the sodden mess of stained cloth and fur that used to be a dress. "And by her clothing, it must be somewhere colder. Perhaps far to the north of Germania?"

"If true, that would ease some fears," Osmund huffed. "Although Germania would be, shall we say, less than pleased."

"_If_ there were...hostilities."

Longuevuille smirked at the hesitant, hopeful tone in Colbert's voice.

If.

"It's just as likely they would be more mercantile than militant. There must be some things we could trade, perhaps we might be able to negotiate some agreements?"

Their best hope was that their royal guest was a petty tyrant no one was sorry to see go. Not that it mattered, she herself would be long gone from Tristain soon enough.

"There is nothing for it." With a grunt, Osmond hoisted himself up from his chair and wandered the room, coming to a stop by one of the windows with a view out into the courtyard. "The Crown must be notified, if for no other reason than to receive permission to treat with our guest on equal footing."

She refrained from rolling her eyes. Because Founder forbid a noble is treated with anything less than their due respect.

Her blood was still red. That was all that mattered.

"And Miss Vallière?" She halfheartedly offered. It wouldn't do to seem too enthralled with their guest's treasures. "She remains without a familiar, despite a successful summoning."

She picked up the next item, a silver and unknown white metal pendant. Aluminum? It was elaborately decorated with a two-headed eagle wearing tiny crowns on each head and carrying swords in each talon. What could only be heraldry crests split the background into quarters of dragons, griffons and unicorns.

"Unless," she glanced up. "That will not be an issue?"

Colbert and Osmund shared a slightly guilty look.

"The thought - " Colbert began.

"- did cross our minds," Osmund finished. "However, good sense prevailed. It would be too much to ask for trust and cooperation when your monarch has a master. If one were to be uncharitable, it would seem we branded her when she was unable to resist..." He puffed a ring of smoke. "No, we shall wait for a better opportunity to broach the subject."

The pendant could open. Behind the eagle was what could only be a clockwork time-keeping device, gears prominently displayed behind a glass face. The numbers were in no alphabet she had ever seen before and the intricacy absurd. She made a small noise in spite of herself.

"Amazing, is it not?" Colbert beamed a wistful smile. "We could learn so much from her people!"

"Why would she allow that?" Colbert blinked while Osmund frowned, proving that he had similar thoughts. Longuevuille traded the pendant-watch for a gossamer thin gold necklace with two rose colored gems flanking a large emerald. The gold strand was made out of a thousand tiny links with impossible precision. "It's very likely she has never heard of Tristain either, why would she allow an unknown kingdom with unknown character a chance to approach hers in power?"

"We - we have time to make a positive impression," Colbert insisted. "It's our responsibility, no, our _duty_ to appeal to a bearer of royal blood of our better nature. Think of it, a _fifth_ kingdom."

"A fifth_ Brimiric_ kingdom?" Her eyes strayed to the bloodletting athame. She had only suspicions, but she doubted it. "What was done about the ...mold?"

The excitement drained from Colbert's face as it shadowed with some emotion. "It is secure. Nothing to be concerned about, miss."

She knew a warning when she heard one. "Of course, my only concern is what to mark on the girl's file. Succeeded the summoning, but does this count as failing to contract? The Familiar Summoning is considered sacred, is it not?"

Osmund winced. "Cardinal Mazarin would be better able to advise us regarding…" he waved his pipe vaguely, trailing smoke. "One more reason to inform the Crown of recent events. Quietly."

"Forgive me, but every student on the field saw that crown." It sat at the end of the display table, beside the pearl earrings and rose-gold ring. A handsome piece: a band of gold with a ring of pearls around its middle. The cresting point in the front sported a large, dark ruby set in a white metal diamond. The same silvery, glowing script around the gem. "All of Tristain will know about it by tomorrow."

"I've halted our mailing service, as is my right as Headmaster. I will make an announcement tomorrow, and hopefully, that will be the end of that."

Longuevuille knew her smile was more amused than it should have been. They were talking about teenagers, were they not? And her missive was already on its way. Royals were rarely anything less than square class mages, and this one had more reason than most for animosity against Tristain. That she carried in her blood a weapon against _magic itself_ was just icing on the cake.

She might be asked to procure a sample. She would look forward to the challenge. Tristain at large may be kept ignorant for a bit longer, for all the good that would do.

"As you say, Headmaster."

**_/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/_**

When she woke, the sun had already set. The cloudy yellow light streaming through tall windows had turned bright moonlit silver. She must have been unconscious for hours. She could barely remember the last time she indulged in true sleep. Sixteen - close to seventeen years ago, but then she did not have much of a choice. She remembered her lessons. Sorceresses could not afford to be careless. Weakness was death. Yet, here she lay, weaker than ever before and miraculously not dead.

_Yet._

The clutter of the room had been removed at some point, leaving a large, empty room for a bed, a dresser and a desk with a chair. By the door, a young woman sat in the chair, quietly knitting to the light of a single candle on the small table beside her. It was nowhere near the size of her previous rooms in the Summer and Winter Palaces, but then very few rooms could match royal apartments. It was far larger than the room she lived in as a girl, but more familiar. Cold stone. Wood. Even a slight draft.

She allowed her brow to furrow as she slowly sat up. Everything ached, her stomach most of all. It was a dull, throbbing pain with flashes of sharper pricks shivering down her spine and legs. _Patience_, she counseled herself. _Be patient._ The knitting girl noticed, letting out a small gasp as she shot to her feet.

"You - your...majesty?"

"Your Imperial Majesty," she corrected absently. _Mercy preserve her,_ she remembered the language. That made her slightly less helpless. Her keeper looked no older than twenty in a peculiarly flattering white and black outfit. She would withhold judgement. The girl was pretty enough, with wide blue eyes and dirt brown hair. "Tell me -" She brushed her nose and nearly sighed in relief when her hand came away clean. "Tell me where I have found myself."

"The Tristain Academy of Magic." Her hands clasped in front of her, knuckles turning white as she bowed. "I am to attend you by order of the Headmaster, your imperial majesty."

The girl was afraid. That much was obvious. "And your name?"

"Ah, Marie, your imperial majesty." She punctuated her words with an acceptable curtsy. A little boldly she asked, "What's yours?" Her brain caught up with her mouth then, by how those eyes got even wider. "If I may! I intend no offense with my curiosity, I apologize!"

She felt the gentle smile pull at her lips. She always had a soft spot for those that did not know their place.

A ruby covered it now. A reminder of what compassion costs.

"You speak to the Dowager Empress Renia Maxwell Ruten of Rutenia." She waved a dismissive hand. "Duchess of Oldenburg and Restov, Lady of Karbadia, and others and others."

She turned her head to the window. Leaning forward a little further, she was able to see the smooth curvature of two moons in the night sky. She didn't even try to find familiar constellations through the smoky glass.

_Lost_, Руин had said.

Now she understood.

She felt like screaming, but she buried the impulse.

Deep.

"Am I to be a prisoner then?" She let her smile shrink as she turned back to the girl. "Or a hostage?"

"A _guest,_" Marie was quick to reply. She might even believe it. "You will be treated with _every_ courtesy here, not harmed!"

"Very well," she allowed. The fact that she had yet to have her Arcanum returned to her said otherwise. Patience. They might have thought it a simple pretty bauble, or underestimated just how naked she felt without it. "Do you feed your guests?"

"Of course." Marie chanced a smile. "I will fetch your supper right away."

The girl opened the door and Renia carefully did not react as a shadow wound between Marie's legs to slip into the room. It went unnoticed and the door closed with a small click. The shadow dripped up the foot of the bed to settle as a light weight on her legs. Renia smiled and slowly reached out with her bare right hand. Of course it wandered. She did not give it explicit instructions to return.

_You left me sleeping,_ she told it with a hint of warning, but in truth she was unconcerned. Nothing had happened while she was vulnerable, and this one wasn't stupid. It nudged her palm and she trailed fingertips over the crest of its neck. _I trust you discovered something worthwhile?_

_The girl can feel,_ it whispered.

She stilled.

_That was not what I wanted to hear_. But it was exactly what she should have suspected. How could one banish, or kill, demons without the potential to even touch them? Without the potential to see them?

Without the potential to _use_ them.

Renia closed her eyes. _It changes little. What else?_

A series of images flashed before her eyes. She saw hallways, stairs and at the end a large room dominated by a desk with a small side table laden with her things. There were three people there, but she ignored all save her Arcanum. And her crown.

It burned the map into her mind, eliciting a small hiss of pain. _Good, continue._

It showed her what could only be classrooms, filled with mage students accompanied by sounds and the taste of their emotions in the air. _Yes,_ this was why she chose this one to be her anchor and guard her heart. It's curiosity was to its credit.

Marie returned with a hearty soup and bread, and was then dismissed to go about her other business. To bed, or whatever took her away from _here_. Renia ate slowly, allowing her mind to digest. When she finished, she steeled herself. Her previous debt had been unconventionally _forgiven_. It was difficult for something already lost to collect. She had no such reprieve now.

_Payment?_ She gently questioned.

It nestled close, pressing against the pulse of her neck.

_Pain!_

It tore her throat open and began to feed.


	4. Chapter 4

_**QUEEN OF RUIN**_

* * *

She did not hide the evidence.

"_By the Founder,_" her physician breathed as he gently tilted her chin up for a better look at the raw, fresh wound ripped across her jugular. His green eye was large behind his monocle even narrowed as it was. His grey, bushy beard twitched occasionally as he fought to control his mouth. "It is_ remarkable_ that you survived the night with this."

"I am, at best, mediocre with the healing arts, but most of the spores were cleansed through your efforts," she conceded. Were she not what she was, the wound would have killed her. Had her contract been badly written, she would have bled out within minutes. But as it was, her anchor was the last demon that would kill her. As with all demons, it knew where the fine line lay. It demanded _pain_ as a Price, not blood. "I will not pretend it looks pretty, but it is as you said, I am resilient."

His gaze flickered up to meet her eyes, abashed at his earlier words spoken while she vomited out the poison. "Ah, well, we shall not have you leaving my care with scars now, your..."

"Imperial majesty," Marie said impishly from where she was setting what looked like breakfast on the side table. Renia made sure to flash the girl a small, amused smile that the servant returned. No matter her crown, she always had more in common with the common folk and she had never allowed herself to forget it. Small gestures, cheap gestures, went far with the underprivileged and smiles cost nothing.

If only she knew nobility half as well.

She was sure the food smelled lovely and it almost did, but she could never eat just after paying a Price. Perhaps, she just had a delicate constitution.

"Imperial…" the man murmured thoughtfully. There was a cold sting as he gently peeled the scabbing wound apart, caressing the injured skin with warm, pure water. He mumbled under his breath as he worked, very little of it audible, but eventually he increased his volume.

"Spores, you said. You know the means of your affliction?"

"Venatus Ignos spores." She gained nothing by concealing this, but gained everything by being cautious with what she revealed. "Symptoms include fever, muscular spasms, dizziness and, of course, excessive bleeding both internally and externally."

The last word was the lie.

"And reduced effectiveness of _magic._" He blurted out, aghast.

"Yes." She hummed as he finished and ran a contemplative finger over the line where the tear used to be. "It was ingested intentionally."

_"__Intentionally?"_

She met his eyes evenly.

"Not by _my_ intention," she said quietly. She did not allow herself to dwell on it, shoving the emotion away before it could fully form. It would only distract her.

His beard bristled. "Well, believe me when I say, you are safe here, your imperial majesty."

"So it seems." She did not believe it. Sorceresses cannot afford to be careless. Even in the height of power, she would never be safe. She must remember this. "And, I sincerely apologize, but I seem to have missed your name, sir."

"Ah! Yes, yes, Sebastien Durand, Spell Theory and applied Water manipulation professor here at The Magical Academy of Tristain," he said with a certain pomp and flair. "At your disposal, of course."

No, not at hers. The Headmaster's. She would never understand the purpose of such banal falsehoods.

"Renia Maxwell Ruten of Rutenia," she introduced herself for the second time. It had been years, decades even, since the last occasion for her own introduction and she found herself quite out of practice. The name still didn't feel right. "I trust you are to be my primary physician?" At his nod, she allowed her gaze to slip to the side as if hesitant. "Am I well enough to be out of bed?"

He made a long, low considering hum.

"Perhaps. I would permit a bit of exercise today, but I must, respectfully, request that you do not exert yourself, you imperial majesty. No spells." His eye behind the monocle narrowed. "Unless your life depends upon it."

She met his eyes and gave a resolute nod. "Agreed. I know my limits."

Two sips.

Durand grinned. "You would be surprised how many patients say the same, and then overestimate themselves!"

"I nearly died," she countered cooly. "I have no desire to put myself back into that state."

She had no desire to see Руин any time soon.

"Ah…" the man deflated, before bounding back with enthusiasm. "Naturally! But I must insist, any pain, lightheadedness or nausea and you are to cease and desist immediately!"

"Noted." And she _would_ keep it in mind. "I only wish to see the Academy and perhaps receive a guest. I do find myself curious. The girl?" She watched the subtle tension play in his shoulders. "I fear we made terrible first impressions on each other."

"Terrible first impressions," he repeated, tickled literally pink from the ruddy glow in his cheeks as he chuckled. "Yes, I imagine that is true enough. No hard feelings, hm?"

"I do not know what to feel," she said slowly. Carefully. "Because I have yet to understand how and why I have come to be here." Despite herself, she found her eyes traveling to the window where she recalled seeing twin moons in the night sky.

_Lost._

"Am I to have answers, Sebastien?"

The man sobered quickly. "You will, your imperial majesty. Headmaster Osmund would like nothing more than to provide them, on my honor."

How much is honor worth, these days, she wondered.

Edmund would know.

"Then I will await them."

_To retrieve my Arcanum, what is the Price?_ She asked, half paying attention to Durand running her through the battery of examination questions common to doctor's everywhere, designed to make patients feel like they were contributing.

_Flesh._

She managed to hide the grimace as a slight tightening of her jaw. "I feel fine, sir. Tired, and a bit sore, but otherwise well."

Flesh? Of course it was._ Of course it was_. Loyal, as far as demons go, but cunning. It knew the depths of her desperation, and priced accordingly.

She wouldn't be able to hide that.

She wasn't entirely sure she'd be able to survive that as she was.

_Weak?_ It asked and she did not answer.

Durand took his leave, begging her patience, and Marie shared a wry smile as soon as the door closed.

"They have not asked enough of your patience already?" she asked as she positioned the tray. The girl carefully handed over the mug of hot tea, blissfully unaware that for a moment Renia considered using her flesh instead.

Patience, she reminded herself. That cannot be taken back.

Three hundred for three thousand. The calculus had been sound and she'd been poisoned for it. Remembering that gave her all the patience she needed.

She sipped at the tea, an earthy and vaguely spicy blend. Breakfast was a mixture of fruits, cold meats, pastries and cheese. The girl misread her look.

"Is this not the fare you are used to? I - I apologize, the students have minimal complaints, but - "

"Please," Renia cut in before the girl debased herself further. "That is not a problem, I assure you. I have simpler tastes than gold flakes and jeweled covered fruit."

"Gold…?" Marie's face contorted briefly, flashing through bewilderment and disgust to exasperation. That told her a thousand words about the relationship between the nobility and the common folk here. One that should have been exploited long before, were it not for the clear monopoly of power nobles had here.

Magic.

She forced herself to nibble on some hard cheese. It was sharp with an iron aftertaste, though the latter might have just been the blood in her mouth.

"Do not mistake me, what food that was there underneath was delicious, but…" She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "It was a waste."

Upon hearing that word, waste, a look flashed through Marie's blue eyes. A realization, or an understanding. Had she her Arcanum, she would be able to tell exactly what conclusion the girl reached, but as it was, she could only guess.

Renia had never bothered to learn how to dance. She couldn't cook either, so she never shared any recipes. She never bothered to write poetry, host balls, run an estate or any other number of skills noble ladies typically possessed.

Because they were useless.

She was a sorceress. If her lack of refinement and willingness to disparage the life of the privileged marked her as uncommonly common, then so be it.

They chatted lightly, focusing mainly on the habits of lifestyle of Tristainian nobles. Each scrap of information contributing to the picture she was building in her mind. She had to understand how people here thought, what they thought important. What they might be willing to kill for, or die for.

She had to understand Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière.

"Oh!" They were interrupted by a short, plump woman with greying dark hair pulled back into a severe bun. "I beg your pardons, majesty," she said, striding into the room with her gaze fixed on the girl who had frozen in her chair. She dumped her armful of linens on the overstuffed chair in the corner. "I hope she wasn't too much of a bother, _come along,_ girl. You've wasted enough time!"

Renia had to only glance at the girl's stricken expression to decide. "She is assigned to me, was she not?"

That brought the woman up short. "In - in a manner of speaking, but surely it isn't appropriate - It was only for the day, while you were recovering. I can request persons of a better lineage to attend - "

"I require no such thing," she cut the woman off coldly. "Marie has been very informative and has done well so far. She will continue to do so." She softened the command with a brief lowering of her eyes. "If the Headmaster wishes to object," she said, relieving the woman of culpability. "He may do so in person."

There was nothing left but for the woman to nod. "As you wish, your majesty."

Imperial Majesty, Renia thought.

"Imperial Majesty," Marie said, rolling her eyes. "With permission, may I procure new clothes for you?"

Yes, wearing something a little bit more than a cotton shift would be nice. "If you could return my dress?"

The look on both of their faces said enough.

"I do not care if it is now _ashes_, I _will_ have it back along with its sleeve of gold." If they haven't already figured out the Arcanum was not originally just part of the outfit, she was not going to inform them. Fixing her dress would be the most petty use of magic she'd ever indulged in, but if it meant not sitting through the poking and prodding necessary for people of this era to make new garments, she was willing to do it.

Provided the magic use wouldn't kill her.

Last night had been _inconclusive_ as to the status of her spore infection.

"Marie, can you do this for me?"

The girl grinned with a happy nod. "At once!"

**_0/0/0/0/0/0/0_**

"Where _were_ you?" Siesta hissed as soon as she entered the room. Her dark eyes swept up and down before her tense expression changed, seeing no evidence of punishment. "Oh, you weren't …"

"I was _rewarded_," Marie replied primly. "The queen asked that I attend her. Agnes didn't like it of course, but doing our errands, it's all beneath me now."

'Agnes,' Siesta mouthed, wordlessly recalling that it was the head lady's first name that they were to never use, but it wasn't like anyone could do anything about it. She could just imagine Agnes blustering into the room, dragging her by the ear behind her only to be met with the queen's red eyed gaze and soft, lilting voice. Queen Renia wouldn't stand for it, she knew.

Siesta smiled tentatively as she went back to folding blankets. The room was as stuffy as ever with the roaring fireplace serving to dry out the cloth as they worked. The room was too small, really, but she was embarrassed to admit she didn't know where else to go. It wasn't as if she regularly had free time to herself. There was little to do in her quarters except read one of Siesta's books. The Head Lady herself had gone to the Headmaster to retrieve the queen's belongings, so she had a bit of free time watching what she would have been doing if things had happened differently.

"You should have come with me," Marie said. The sting of abandonment had completely faded. "She would have liked you, I swear it."

"Good," Siesta said. "If she didn't like me, she could have me _killed_."

"She's not like that."

"How do you know?" Siesta placed her folded blanket aside on the pile. "You'll never know for sure, until she ceases to like you."

"You don't understand!" Marie burst out. "She's - "

"Arrogant?" Siesta finished for her. "Entitled? Doesn't take no for an answer?"

_"__Magnificent_," Marie said. She turned away, frustration heating her cheeks. "She didn't take no as an answer, that much is true, but it had been on my behalf. Surely, that makes all the difference?"

"It might," her friend allowed. "Depends on what her motive was."

"You are very jaded, Siesta."

"You are very naive, Marie."

They shared a smile.

Siesta went back to her folding, a small, sad smile on her face. "If you are to be attending the queen, you should have your quarters moved."

"Should I…?" Marie asked, a bit lost on the reason.

Siesta nodded. "Not everyone will be happy for you."

None of the other girls were looking at her. Each one seemed absorbed in their task, but just yesterday she could recall the steady hum of chatter around her as she worked. It was something they had to make their errands lighter to handle and since she arrived, no one but Siesta had said a thing.

"I see," Marie whispered as she turned and quickly left.

She brought the bundle of cloth, fur, leather and gold wrapped up in cloth back to the queen's room with a smile fixed onto her face. It didn't matter. Not really. This was almost like being a handmaiden wasn't it? Or, perhaps, a_ lady in waiting?_

A new table had been brought to the room that was slowly, but surely, transforming into a noble's quarters. She set her burden upon it and heard the bed shifting as the queen moved to stand.

"Just a moment, please," she pleaded, abandoning the cloth to swiftly cross the room to the woman's side. She held out her hands, freezing just shy of touching, stricken by a sudden uncertainty. What if touching her without explicit permission would be overstepping her bounds? What if she didn't like to be touched?

"I am _fine_," Queen Renia bit out and Marie couldn't help flinching back. The woman paused, casting her a look from the corner of her red eyes. "You, however, seem far less sure of yourself. Did something happen?"

The queen was concerned. For her, a simple servant girl.

Damn it Siesta, she thought.

"No," she said, smiling. "I was just being silly."

The queen didn't need too much help, just a steadying hand on her shoulder for a few moments after she settled on her feet. Together they unfolded the bundle of cloth and Marie let out a gasp, catching the shine of silver and gold among the lustre of pearls and glimmer of rubies. Almost immediately, she felt incredibly slow. The woman was a queen. If the nobles at the Academy were impressive with their fine clothes and jewelry, how much more opulent would royalty be?

The first thing the lady reached for was the gold, a waterfall of clinking as she put a hand through the chain mail link sleeve. It lacked a glove, merely ending in a golden ring that fit around the queen's middle finger while golden strands held a ruby in her palm.

The woman couldn't quite hide the gasp of pain. She ripped the chain from her arm, dropping it onto the floor as she turned, coughing. A hand was up at her mouth and it came away spotted with red flecks.

Marie instantly kicked the gold pile away under the table and the queen began to laugh between coughs. The coughing fit lasted for a worrying amount of time before it ebbed. The woman's slight frame was shaking.

"Still - " her breath wheezed. "Still weak, it seems..."

The queen reached out and laid her left hand on the other golden piece, a crown, and with her right made a gesture. The scraps of cloth and fur and leather writhed. Before her bewildered eyes, the dress resewed its seams shut and mended its tears as if they had never existed. The black three-quarters cloak flowed together into one piece once more as her shoes cleaned themselves of mud. The old dried black blood reddened and moistened until it was as if it had been freshly spilt, and then it seemingly evaporated from the cloth and white fur.

"Amazing," Marie breathed.

Queen Renia hummed non-committedly, then bent over and vomited blood.

_**0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0**_

_...it is for reasons stated that the Crown feels it best that the impending visit to the Academy be moved ahead…_

Osmund palmed his face.

"They are making the trip early," Longuevuille said.

"Unfortunately," he sighed. Hm, white and black lace, must be new. He knew the moment she found Chuchu by the swift foot. He winced, covering it up by lifting the parchment in front of his face.

It said nothing good that this response had come so swiftly.

Well, perhaps it said some good, being that he would have support sooner than he thought. It was only the fact that reading between the lines revealed that support would come soon because the Crown was in a panic that kept him from feeling any relief.

First Albion. Then Germania.

Now this.

"If you could send for Louise for me, my dear?"

"Preparing to throw her to the wolves?" his secretary asked with a faint frown.

"Hopefully it won't come to that," he replied and didn't deny it. He had to keep his options open. There was more at stake than one failing student. But he was the Headmaster, Founder take it! This wasn't a decision he could make lightly and he had, somewhat naively, hoped he wouldn't have to make it all. The only nation he knew of that used the word _Imperial _was Germania, comprised of dozens of smaller nations led by petty kings. It suggested size and with size came power. If the queen was any indication at all, her kingdom had the advantage both magically and industrially, but he also knew Karin de La Vallière would accept that excuse over her dead body. Cardinal Mazarin would come up with something he missed. He must. "Hopefully it won't."

"And if it does?"

He had no answer for that.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Queen of Ruin_**

* * *

She couldn't negotiate like this, Renia thought. She lay in what was, for now, her bed, feeling the low burn of a fever radiating out from her head while the ache of internal bleeding throbbed deep beneath her skin. The room seemed emptier than ever, and it had begun feeling rather empty, but now idle glances of hers seemed drawn to the blank spaces. Her memory turned shadows into set pieces of gold and dark wood. A simple wooden fixture became the ceremonial spear and bow gifted from a prince of Niger as a crack in the stone wall became the large, sweeping painted fan from Zipangu. The reams of fabric she had requested gained all sorts of dazzling colors, streaked with silver and gold thread. Painted ostrich eggs, glass blown horses, clockwork jewelry. A wrack of crippling pain swept it all away.

It was focused in her stomach, was the idle thought. It made sense now why such an esoteric poison would have to be ingested, the weakest of all poisoning methods. Once the bleeding began there, with the stomach and then the intestines, it was a long, slow and almost sure death.

It as tenacious, lingering, and needed very little activity to activate the symptoms. Obviously, a lot of magic produced more dramatic results, but a little passive channeling resulted in what could have been a stomach ulcer. And if the victim was _resilient,_ they would suffer for a very long time.

What a delightfully vicious tool against a magic user, she thought staring upwards. She _did_ teach the boy well.

There was no satisfaction, only emptiness.

She couldn't function like this.

She wasn't anything like this.

She raised her right hand into her line of sight. Her fingers trembled, her pale skin flushed red. Durand had to be talked out of 'curing' her contract scars. A brief smile pulled at her lips. If only the scars could be so easily erased.

She tried, once.

He had felt so helpless and dismayed, of course. He had complained loudly about her exertion, forcing her to listen to every word. It was only after she passed his little examination with flying colors did, well his complaints didn't stop, but they did get quiet enough that she could pretend she didn't hear them.

Marie made it bearable. The girl believed in her the way only one who didn't know any better could. She would have to be cruel to the girl soon, before her untempered regard blossomed into something more inconvenient.

Something small, easily rationalized away by a member of the peasantry, Renia decided.

Her eyes drifted to her crown.

That was a terrible idea.

But unless she wished to confront this world crippled by poison, it was the only hope she had.

More debts.

She returned to staring at the ceiling. The silver moonlight filtering through the windows seemed muted, dull almost. As a child, she had loved the moon and the stars. They meant freedom, where the sun could not. She cupped her palm, like she used to long ago, and watched the light fill her hand. The woman that she was exploited her love of the moon and stars. She desecrated it. She defiled it. She bolted that concept of freedom to her very soul, to the small corner the demons could not reach by design.

The moonlight would _burn _going down, she knew.

She would then die.

She did not want to die, not then.

And not now.

She got out of bed. Her body's attempt to protest with dizziness and shortness of breath were acknowledged, and then set aside as she strode over to the table. The cold gold chilled her fingertips as she hefted its familiar weight and gazed into the dark ruby crowning its front. Within the red, she could see the dark fire come to life.

_Ask_, Руин purred with her mother's voice.

"The price for cleansing my body and magic of the venatus ignos spores."

_One of these magi,_ came the immediate reply and Renia felt a chilling prickle caress the back of her neck. She'd seen what became of mages given to demons before. She'd been very lucky, the kind that had to be engineered by several generations of births and murders. She had the talent, and more importantly, was infertile.

Her eyes closed and to her relief, the memory didn't haunt that darkness.

She could bear to see it again.

"For the demons?" She clarified.

_Them?_ It chuckled. Her mother had always had that airy, trilling laugh that even a broken neck couldn't take away. _No, for me._

"_I will never be your whore_," she snarled into the quiet. Calm! Her mind screamed at her as the dark fire in the ruby smiled. Peace. _Think_. She could not afford to scuttle the deal before it had even been made. She forced herself to breathe in, deep. "I will not hide you," she declared. "Nor will I hide your power. Should any show interest - " they can seek you out like I had to - "I will...perform the introduction."

She would damn them.

She held her breath, preparing to defend her words.

_Acceptable._

The pain that followed was _blinding. _

Her vision went white. Her very existence shrunk into a ball of sensory deprivation; there was no smell, touch, sound or taste. Only agony. She had already known to paralyze her vocal chords, and her scream nearly broke though the cantrip. She could feel it, the way nearly every inch of her soul _ignited._

Then it was over, and she was left gasping for breath.

Someone had not appreciated the open-ended bargain, she thought dimly.

"You could have - " she gasped, futilely grasping for control over her voice. "You could have just said no."

_Too much?_ It asked with her mother's faint simper. _I apologize for that, girl, but you know that -_

"Pain is an important part of the process," Renia whispered along. She didn't have to look into the ruby to see the dark fire _smile._

_You understand, of course you do. It's just, well, that pride of yours Valeriya. It's dangerous to keep._

She said nothing and Руин tsked.

_You should answer when spoken to._

"It is dangerous," Renia blandly agreed, her sight fixed on the window with the moonlight of two moons spilling through it. "I will keep it, all the same."

_Have you forgotten how to address me as well, girl?_

Her voice did not waver. "I will keep it, all the same, Mother."

Her mother's voice sighed. _I suppose you will. It isn't healthy for sorceresses to lie to themselves, is it?_

Then it too, was gone and Renia allowed the crown to fall from numb, frostbitten fingers. She took a step back from the table and took several moments to simply breathe.

She used to get angry.

It was no use being angry.

She chose this.

She chose this.

She slipped the familiar, cold weight of her Arcanum over her right arm, threading her middle finger through the ring at the end and locking the clasp around her shoulder with a simple, practiced movement. There was no pain. She turned towards the fabric reams. She still had a few too weak to protest too much, and too weak to demand much from her, and so she set them to work recreating some of her wardrobe from the patterns. Asymmetric sleeves, subtle movement through the pieces and more conservative on opulence. They would wonder where she pulled more pearls and jewels from, the most she recalled from the girl's memories were the transmutations of gold.

Plebian.

A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. She could function like this.

She could negotiate like this.

She chose a red and gold dress in the end. The temptation to wear her original white pearl one was strong, because it was so obviously above and beyond what anyone wore here, but that had its dangers. Repeating an outfit sent a certain message, one of desperation or unease, clinging to the familiar. A new one? Self-sufficiency. And one in such a short time frame told of nothing else but magic.

She tried it on, the dress splitting itself in half to shroud her and sealed itself at the back.

Perfect.

She was ready.

* * *

She was not ready.

"Let me - " she cut Osmund off through another of his apologies. "Let me summarize. You do not know what makes the Springtime Familiar Summoning ritual work." He nodded. "It cannot be reversed, by virtue of no one knowing where to even begin and if anyone did, it would be the Church and the ritual is _sacred._" She resisted the urge to knead her temples, taking a sip of her tea instead.

Bloody, fucking religions.

"And you are all scared to death of the Elfin."

Nothing was going the way she hoped. They sat across from each other at a round table laboring under a decent porcelain tea set. The tea had a bite to it, telling her something about what the man assumed about her. He assumed wrongly, but she gave no indication that she had much more of a sweet tooth.

"For a very good reason," the Headmaster intoned seriously. "A force of five thousand against three hundred Firstborn was …"

And any sort of negotiations was out of the question because of religion, of course.

Osmund was eyeing her. "Your nation was not so much on the back foot, was it?"

"Of course not," she nearly spat. While not entirely successful, _murdering magic_ was generally a good start on making the Elfin toothless outside of their Paths in her world, and upsetting the balance with a lot of things in general.

_Religion._

"Our Royal Family has always been the custodians of magic, from the dangerous to wield to the dangerous to know. I trust it is the same here?" He nodded again, but there was a certain hesitance caused by that inconvenient, contrary stray thought coming to mind. Ah, so the Royal Family were not the sole arbiters of what magic was dangerous. The Church held a strong influence over Tristain's Crown then. Too strong. "There you have it, we were fortunate enough to come into knowledge of - you call them Firstborn? - magic and have used it against them ever since." Technically true. "Surely you know of contracting spirits?"

Osmund brightened. "Ah, yes, in fact one of our own families have had a generational long contract with the spirit of Lagdorian Lake, however, not necessarily one useful for defense."

Then your contract maker was either an idiot, bigoted, or both.

"It is much the same then, just expanded upon. Broadened, so to speak." Her Payment burned on her tongue. "The Elfin have their own innate magic, but it is subtle enough. Their contracts are the problem, and with enough experience, you can find the weakness in those."

Experience they would never get, but it was harmless enough advice.

"I need to use their Paths," she murmured. It was the only method of travel between worlds that she knew of, as dangerous and uncertain as that method was. "It would be in your best interest that I find a way to return to my kingdom, before my kingdom finds a way to come here, agreed?"

"Agreed," the man said quickly. "Unfortunately, I am not in the position to make any promises, but!" He rushed ahead of her. "The Crown of Tristain, Cardinal Mazarin and Princess Henrietta are due at the Academy in a few days and you are welcome for as long as you wish it."

"Fine," she allowed, setting her cup down. It had not failed to get her attention that he had yet to address her by title. There was a fine balance between respecting one of a higher class, and placing yourself under their purview. "Then you are in the position to fulfill a separate request of mine."

He tensed. "And that is?"

"The girl, my _summoner_, I wish to speak with her." She rolled her eyes. "Don't make that face, you knew this was inevitable."

He didn't release the hesitant expression. "Would meeting her here be acceptable?"

Under his supervision? What did he think she was going to do, swoop down on the girl and fly off into the sunset? She refrained from rolling her eyes again, scoffing a little into her tea cup.

"More than acceptable."

He stroked his beard before getting up from his chair. "Then I shall fetch her post haste."

The moment he left the room, Renia glanced over to the side behind her where his green-haired secretary silently filled out and sorted papers behind a cluttered desk.

"You should hide it better."

The woman froze for a split second. A practiced, nervous smile was on her face. "I'm sorry?"

"Your contempt," Renia clarified with a small, knowing smile. It was a certain kind of contempt. The one people who saw people as people, but still didn't really _care_ had. "You should hide it better."

She found herself studied by shrewd, narrowed eyes.

"Longueville," the woman introduced herself, having been too low of a social class for an introduction of her own when the meeting had began. The secretary cracked a crooked smile. "I know who you are already."

Then pay attention, murderer, and you might know _what _I am as well, Renia thought.

"You pay attention, huh?" Longueville remarked casually. "All the girls that deal with you...they have a good impression of you."

It didn't take much, to be fair.

"I have a personal investment in ensuring that is the case."

"Right," Longueville smirked. "Poison?"

Unbidden, Renia's eyes fluttered closed.

She wished.

"Vindication," she breathed. Before the woman could respond, Renia held a finger up to her lips. _Hush. Company._

Longueville blended into the background, hefting a piece of paper with the seamless transition of a practiced assassin, or thief. Idly, Renia wondered what her price was. Something personal, she reasoned. The one thing she cared for. Something that needed long term solutions, or else someone like the 'secretary' would have already self destructed.

A person, in constant danger. A hostage of some sort. Nothing direct or overt as that would turn that cutting contempt on to an obvious target. Bad family situation?

It was habit, by now, she realized. From fifteen years of running a kingdom, it was a habit to weigh the cost and benefit of acquiring certain forms of talent.

She had her demons. The habit would have to be broken.

Osmund entered the room looking a lot more relaxed than he had leaving, but she could tell it was an affectation. He wanted to put the girl at ease even as the look he gave her was filled with nothing but apprehension.

Louise was a small girl.

Her pink hair was obviously well cared for, and she wore the Academy uniform well, even if it gave her the appearance of a fourteen year old and not the seventeen she was. She held herself stiffly, wooden, mechanical movements that spoke of inexperienced aping of someone else.

Someone stronger.

Renia smiled. "A pleasure to finally meet you face to face once more. Your name?"

The girl curtseyed. "Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière, your Imperial Majesty."

She didn't remember. Not clearly. She could see the vacancy in her pink eyes. Cutting off the mind delve so abruptly had fortunate consequences it seemed.

That was a relief.

She had more to worry about than one noble girl screeching about being tortured for information.

She gestured toward the seat across from her, and the tea set moved. Osmund's nearly empty cup refilled itself as it floated over to his desk, unsubtly banishing him from the table, as another poured itself out.

"Sugar?" She asked, keeping a very close eye on how close the shadows came to the girl. A stray brush could ruin the show. A little milk was added before she served the cup personally. Louise's eyes widened a little as she carefully took it from her hands. "Renia Maxwell Ruten of the kingdom of Rutenia," she introduced herself. "The Dowager Empress."

Behind them, Osmund winced.

"Your Headmaster tells me that the summoning ritual used does not allow the mage to choose the...familiar."

"Yes!" Louise rushed to confirm. "I had already failed it once when - I had no indication that it would summon one of your standing, your Imperial Majesty."

She ignored the plea. "You tried twice?"

Slowly, Louise nodded.

That meant something. "And I assume there are ritual words calling for the familiar, would you repeat them for me?"

The girl's face went white as she desperately looked at her Headmaster, who could only give her a helpless shrug in return.

"My - " Louise began haltingly. "My _servant_ who exists - "

Renia's cup shattered.

"Oh," she said. "My apologies." She carefully picked the shards out of her left palm as a shadow swept the liquid from the table and her lap. For affectation, it brushed the stinging hot water against the palm of her hand as the wounds sealed, before carelessly throwing the mess into the rubbish bin. "I hope you did not stop on my account."

Longueville let out a suspicious sounding cough.

"My servant who exists somewhere in this vast universe," Louise began again, resigned. "My divine, beautiful, wise and powerful servant, heed my call. I wish from the very bottom of my heart, add to my guidance...and appear." She slumped in her chair. "That's the one that worked."

"And the one that didn't?"

"My name is Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière," she managed a weak smile when Renia kept her expression calm. "Pentagon of the five elemental powers, heed my summoning... and bring forth...my familiar."

"Open," Renia remarked blandly. It was always in the wording. She tilted her gaze upwards towards the ceiling. "Perhaps your first attempt was too open."

"It - It worked for everyone else!"

Renia couldn't help the small smile at the petulant tone. The answer was already in the pilfered memories, but she had to seem as if she was building to a conclusion. "Do you often have trouble failing where others have succeeded?"

The urge to scream no was clear on the girl's face, but in the end what came out was a whisper.

"Yes."

"And correct me if I am mistaken, but you separate your elements here, don't you Osmund? Each mage has an affinity to one or several of the five?"

"Earth, Fire, Water, Wind," Osmund said with the tones of someone used to teaching. "No one has had the affinity for the fifth in six thousand years."

Renia blinked and filed that away. "And the familiar is to suit the mage, yes?"

"That is the thought."

"Then perhaps the second incantation worked for a reason." Renia smiled a slow, sad smile. This might hurt her. Remembering. Her Payment burned on her tongue. "Perhaps we...share affinities, for you see, when I was a child?"

_That pride of yours, Valeriya._

"I was a failure, with an affinity for nothing at all."


	6. Chapter 6

_**Queen of Ruin**_

_**отверженный:**_** outcast, forsaken (from society and God)**

* * *

_****_ _"__I was a failure, with an affinity for nothing at all."_

Those words were _perfect,_ Osmund thought. They were effortlessly self-deprecating, lowering the woman from her lofty social standing to a comfortable _something_ just beyond and just within the caste borders. They told everything about the woman's personal prowess with magic by casting the picture of a long, arduous journey to become what she was today without putting a measurement to what today's mage looked like. It spoke of an affinity, in more than one way, with young Louise. An understanding. True empathy in a simply stated, mildly toned sentence.

The effect is made on Louise was immediate and obvious. The girl sat up in her chair, regained her easy noble posture even as she leaned forward, captivated.

Another like her.

The Dowager Empress of Rutenia was _rather dangerous, _wasn't she?

Behind his teacup, the Headmaster of Tristain's Magical Academy examined the royal woman. She was beautiful in a rare way with long curling black hair, blood red eyes and ivory skin with very delicate, fine features. High cheekbones, thin nose and small mouth with a supple predatory cast to her jawline hollowing her cheeks and narrowing her eye shape. A beauty that could have so easily been cold and barren were it not for the gentle light in her eyes and easy smile.

She had the presence of a sleeping dragon.

Awe inspiring, powerful. A way of getting one to let their guard down and assume they were safe with her.

As if she would never wake.

The little tremors were subtle, but the more one looked, the more one could see. There was a lot she did not know about them, just as they did not know about her. She responded appropriately; with surprise, disgust or the relief of finding something familiar. Yet, there were times when she simply _paused._ Her head would tilt just the slightest to the right, as if listening to a whisper. And with terrifying subtlety;

The camouflage _shifts. _

Even now he was half-convinced he was conjuring ghosts. Even now he was prepared to tell himself that he was seeing shadows where none existed.

Her ears were round.

See?

Preposterous.

He lit his pipe and sipped some of the tea prepared for him. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he prepared it himself for his own tastes. Just a hint of extra spice around a dash of sugar, no milk. He glanced up and caught the Dowager Empress looking away with an amused smile.

_Better than you_, the message said, letting him know that he had guessed wrongly as to her tastes and that she took no offense. Well, it took the rare personality to appreciate bitter tart brews, but he knew he had been close. Perhaps a bit more sugar?

He leaned back in his chair.

Hm.

_Hmm._

Pure white lace. It was something to expect on a younger woman, the white for purity and integrity, or failing that on a much older woman suggesting a conservative mindset.

Of course.

The woman coughed under the guise of swallowing her tea wrong, and gently nudged Chuchu out from under her chair with a brush of air. Caught, Osmund just puffed smoke with what he knew was an openly amused twinkle in his eyes.

"You must be very careful with your words," he opted to speak. "Some notes could seem too close to heresy."

"Doubtless," the Dowager Empress replied dryly, defusing the panic in Louise before it could even register. The flashing look she gave him told him he was not quite forgiven his little stunt. Live and learn, he always said. "That is the way of things. Our chapter of the Church calls us отверженный." It was a curious word, with faint Germanic influences, he thought. Colbert's theory of a country north of Germania, across the mountains and cold desert was looking more and more likely. "It means 'bearer of the burden.' It is not an easy, glamorous life, but vitally important."

"The Firstborn," Osmund stated and the woman nodded.

"Between becoming a force multiplier on the field and being worth zero - " Louise flinched and the woman sighed. "Forgive my careless words."

Some part of him doubted they were careless. The rest of him saw the contrition on the woman's face.

"That's - that's what I am called," Louise mustered up the courage to proclaim. "The Zero."

"And my Second Name means 'born again.'" The woman smiled a quirked, saddened smile. "Because I wasn't born right the first time."

She was older than she looked, Osmund realized. Much older. Her words spoke of a very old wound, long since healed over into a faint scar. Most would have hesitated, if they ever succeeded in admitting such a detail about themselves.

"That's cruel!" Louise cried out, stricken. "How could anyone - ?"

"It is what it is," she leaned over, placing a soft hand on the girl's shoulder. "It means to us what we choose it to mean. No one could have known that the failure would marry the Emperor, could they?" Her smile turned soft and fond. "My son is Emperor after his father, and I am not the little girl I once was. In that light, my second birth was rather kind to me, was it not?"

She must have spent years, perhaps decades as Empress only for her husband to die ahead of her in a sad mirror of Tristain's own Crown. The heir had already risen to the occasion, he hoped, or the situation could be even more delicate than assumed. He imagined a young prince or princess Henrietta's age, or worse, younger, dealing with the aftermath of Cardinal Mazarin being abducted right from under their nose by a strange country with unfamiliar magic.

Destabilizing.

It would be absolute chaos.

The _charitable_ interpretation of such an event was an act of war.

He sipped at his tea, thinking deeply. A late marriage would make more sense. An older monarch with a question of legitimate heirs marrying a younger queen. It might put her at the age she seemed, an early to mid thirties. She was uncommonly comfortable with the lower class, but her aristocratic manners were impeccable. Startlingly knowledgeable, and yet strangely naive. Masterfully experienced in the subtle manipulations of mood and impressions, and yet not at all malevolent, but patient and helpful.

Surely, that must not be too much of a woman in her thirties to be?

_Pure white lace._

That mystery would haunt him for the rest of the day, he knew it would.

How could one be so utterly incongruous?

"You may be a zero now, Louise, but God willing, you'll be able to make a difference one day." The Dowager Empress sounded hopeful, but Osmund suspected the hope wasn't necessarily on Louise's behalf.

She was trying to convince the girl that she didn't _need_ a Familiar.

Because that was the elf in the room. At any time, at any moment, even long after the Dowager Empress returned to her lands and peace prevailed, Louise could simply snatch her away again with a few pithy words the moment she felt like it. Louise would never be able to call something, or someone, else to summon. From all they did know about the Familiar Summoning Ritual, it simply did not work that way. Not unless the original summon _died._

No, the two were bound together, for life now. For good or ill. Almost as surely as if Familiar runes had been etched onto the woman already. At least that way a summoning would no longer work. They would just have to deal with all the implications of making a monarch's mother a Familiar of another country's mage.

"H- how would I start? I don't know the first thing…" Louise kicked her legs into a cross as she dropped her chin into her hand. A thoughtful frown furrowed her brow. "I could ask Montmorency for permission to visit the lake, perhaps. If it was willing once for her family then - oh, but that might be seen as Vallière encroaching on their ancestral territory…"

Her Imperial Majesty gave an encouraging nod. "It is always important to consider the consequences of one's actions, in all respects. This is a skill you must nurture, a single stray word can turn a solid binding into a leaking sieve."

"So I must consider my words carefully," Louise murmured. "It is much like my word as a noble, is it not? I must always consider how it will affect the standing of Vallière, to never make promises I cannot keep and to uphold my bargain to the best of my ability."

"Not...quite," the woman glanced down at her tea cup. "It is similar, yes, but - oh, how shall I put this…" She winced then, as if remembering a painful memory. "If you were to make an agreement with another noble to safeguard his belongings, is your word not considered fulfilled even if a great storm ruined some of his valuable paintings?"

Louise nodded. "Provided you did your utmost to protect them as the storm hit rather than leaving them within reach of flood waters."

"Correct, let us say you not only moved them but covered them with oiled tarp to protect against the water and when things become too precarious, you ordered the valuables to be removed to a safer location ahead of your own family." She took a sip. "Alas, wind tore some of the tarps off in transit, and the water damage, while minimal, was permanent."

"Well," Louise frowned. "Only someone truly belligerent and - and _stubborn_ would fault you your efforts then."

"The spirit would take the damage as license to kill you," the queen said blandly. Louise went white-faced with shock. "And it would be right to."

"I wouldn't go that far," Osmund sputtered out, somewhat in shock himself. The Montmorency's lived with the spirit of Lagdorian Lake for generations, surely, it need not nearly be that severe.

"I would," the woman said calmly. "You over promised and spirits do not value things such as we do. Items precious to them are as their _life_. Promises made are as their _blood._ Alliances bargained for make you _kin._ Betrayal makes you a _kinslayer._ To break your word, even such as described, you would have torn their heart out and thrown it away. It matters not how or why."

"The elves go centuries without breaking a single pact, don't they?" Osmund asked, a glimmer of understanding shuddering through him.

"Yes, without breaking a single pact, with _hundreds_ of spirits."

He understood now.

He understood why her kingdom would go as far into heretical arts as they might have. Alone, on the other side of a cold desert against the Firstborn. Bereft of the Romalia's guidance and desperate. They must have done all they could.

"No one could remember all that," Louise said, despairing. "There is no possible - I would fail!"

"Peace, child," the Dowager Empress murmured. "The spirits themselves can be rather simplistic creatures, with simple needs. They have hierarchies among themselves, and rules they also adhere to. It is difficult, yes, I will not lie, but not impossible. Never that."

"How - how do you do it?"

Something flickered over the woman's face. "I sought the top of one such hierarchy."

"Like a king of spirits?" The girl asked.

"Yes," Renia Ruten de Rutenia said with an odd tone of voice. "Like a king." She cleared her throat and changed the subject. "If I recall correctly, Cardinal Mazarin will be coming to visit me?"

Osmund nodded, filing everything the short conversation had revealed away. " As well as our guest of honor for the Familiar Exhibition, Princess Henrietta de Tristain."

Louise's eyes grew round. "The princess…"

"If he were to be convinced of the merits of such a venture, might not he intercede on Louise's behalf with the family? A clean, simple demonstration that it is simply an expansion of sanctioned contracts, surely he would have no cause to object." A shadow briefly passed over the woman's face. "There is no reason to believe the honor and loyalty of Vallière to be compromised, is there?"

Louise gasped. "Never!" All she got was a quiet, patient look from the woman and Louise cringed, but rallied. "Never," she said again, firmly.

"Then that is a point in your favor." The woman searched the girl's face, but she must have found what she was looking for as she smiled. "To leave you alone in your first steps in this would be heartless. As my mother taught me, so shall I - "

The door to his office swung open loudly, drowning out her last words. Jules de Mott strode in with all the pomp and swagger of a man with ten times the pedigree of the Count of Burgundy. He dressed it as well with a blue and red top split open in the middle for white ruffles that was trimmed in gold and silver. A red cape with a white ruffle collar nearly drowned the man, leaving only his head with neatly, audaciously trimmed black hair poking out the top like a mushroom.

"_Official_ business," the man snapped out. The white ruffle on his cape bristled with him.

"All of your business is 'official,'" Osmund pointed out dryly. "Mind your manners, Count Mott, before you offend."

The mild rebuke drew the man up short, who seemed to realize they were not alone in the room. "Ah, pardon me my - my ladies, my lady, your highness," he stumbled, dismissing Louise entirely to focus on the older and more interesting woman in the room. His eyes found the crown and became glued to it. "I was too focused on my duties, please accept my most humble apologies."

He bowed low.

"Accepted," she said in a low tone, a flash of distaste on her face. The warmth had fled her red eyes, leaving behind something very alien. A prickle went up Osmund's spine. The dragon was stirring. "Provided you remember the proper address is _Imperial Majesty._"

Mott bowed again, lower. His head nearly crossing his knees. "I would never dream of forgetting, your imperial majesty."

She was silent as she took a slow, pondering sip of her tea and then put the cup down. "Very good then, you may rise."

The blood had already ran to the man's face, leaving red blotches on otherwise pale cheeks. "You are as magnanimous as you are lovely, your imperial majesty," Mott gushed. "I truly would never have suspected your august presence here at our Academy!"

"As needs must, it seems," she answered non-committedly and Osmund let out a faint sigh of gratitude for her effort in keeping the exact circumstances quiet for a little while longer. "Osmund, we will continue our talk on the morrow."

"As you wish," he acquiesced immediately.

"Louise."

"Y-yes?"

"I expect you to do your own research on the nature of spirits and what is known about them." She did not ask if the workload was acceptable or even what would happen to Louise's normal classes, but in a very real way if she was going to apprentice the girl then it would be her prerogative. Even still, it was inconsiderate. She rose from her seat gracefully, without a hint of the exhaustion and pain from her ordeal he knew she must still be struggling with, and gave the room a nod. "Headmaster. Vallière. Count Mott."

Louise scurried from the room on the woman's heel, "May I ask _you_ about the spirits?"

"Of course, child," he heard faintly before the door closed behind them.

Jules de Mott immediately turned on him, rage reddening his face into an unhealthy puce. "Do you believe yourself _clever_?"

"Her presence here is a set of circumstances neither of us could control," Osmund mildly responded. "I sent an emergency dispatch to inform the Crown, of course, I couldn't simply entrust this information to the schedule of the Palace messengers. It needed to be done, post haste."

Frowning, Mott allowed himself to be defused. "I suppose I could not fault you for bypassing me with such critical information, this time."

This time? Osmund thought with raised eyebrows. "Indeed. Now, what is it you have come to discuss?"

Mott straightened. "Fouquet."

Because that was a problem he could afford right now, he thought. The Dowager Empress could have stayed and heard all about their little 'problem' stealing priceless heirlooms all across the country. Small mercies. No nation was perfect, but the weaker Tristain seemed to the woman, the worse off their bargaining position was.

"He's coming here, isn't he?" Osmund asked.

"He recently struck the capital, _again_, which means he's lingering in the area," Mott replied in clipped tones. "It is believed that the Academy is on the short list of targets and he will strike, soon."

And such warning came with all the backing of an official Palace messenger.

Osmund sighed and stuck his pipe into his mouth. He breathed in, then exhaled a large cloud of sweet smelling smoke.

"Point taken. We will prepare as best as we are able."

"Osmund," Mott said, shaking his head. "I believe I know now why I was tasked with this with such urgency. I need not tell you what it would mean if any of our imperial majesty's belongings went missing."

"No," he agreed, determined to ignore the chill down his spine at the thought. If her _crown_ vanished on them... "You need not."

"Well, onto lighter topics." Mott clapped. "You must tell me where you find your talent, good man, you've quite the selection of women here!"

"I do try," Osmund chortled even as his stomach twisted. Someone caught the man's eye, Osmund knew and he could clearly recall the look of distaste on Renia Ruten's face. At any other time, he wouldn't have thought twice about it, but...there were rumors that the Dowager Empress was rather fond of some of the girls and he didn't know which one. Of all the things not to pay attention to. "Making an offer, my good man?"

"Siesta," Mott said immediately. "Of - of - where was it again, ah - Tarbes."

Didn't sound familiar. Still. "I must insist you receive the girl's express permission and acceptance of the position before we move forward with a transferal of service."

"The position pays well," Mott said with a scoff. "It will be no trouble, I assure you."

"Then it is but a short delay."

Jules de Mott frowned, but he could see that Osmund would not budge. Not on this, not now.

"Of course, have the paperwork ready for my return."

"I will do that," Osmund said to an emptying room as Mott swished out with his secretary behind him, already searching for the service contracts. "Or rather, you will do that."

"Yes," Longueville said with a dry tone. "I will, sir."

She kicked Chuchu away.

Too late!

Purple with flower patterns today, very nice.

…

_Pure white lace, blast it all!_

That mystery was going to haunt him for the rest of his days.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Queen of Ruin_**

* * *

When Marie barged into her room later that evening, Renia could only sigh.

_She knew it._

She'd known about a hundred men like this Count Mott character and she was sure she would go on to know hundreds more in her lifetime. For the most part, they were safe to ignore as long as they weren't in the position for their ego to do too much damage, but every once in a while one would get loose from the kennel and cause a stir. From the Headmaster's unconcerned demeanor, she made the assumption that Count Mott was in a safely ignorable position. She should have remembered when and where she was. She should have remembered the balance of society in this world, where the dog could get out and kill a few rats with none to care.

Save for the rats.

"You want me to - _what?_" Renia asked as she looked up into the mirror, a new addition to her room and probably exorbitantly costly. What did she know of the means of making mirrors? Underneath snarling wooden carvings of griffons, Marie's red faced reflection played with the sleeves of her new cream and blue dress.

"Stop her! Him! Anything!"

"You say that as if it were within my power to _stop," _she replied, slightly incredulous. What was _with _this culture? Or was she just seeing the results of ignorance? No one could just order anyone about with impunity for no reason, not unless one was a noble and you were a commoner. It didn't quite extrapolate the same all the way up.

Marie shook in place. "You're the _queen."_

"I'm _a _queen," Renia snapped back. She was dressed for bed, having removed all of her jewelry and wearing just a simple cotton shift. It felt like she was back in her first year of marriage, every so often having to remind herself. _I did it. I did it. I'm queen, I'm queen._ "I'm certainly not _his_ queen, or in any position of authority over a Count of Tristain without grossly overstepping my bounds. It's simply not -"

"_Politics!?_" The girl burst out. "It's _always_ politics with _you_ people, never about what's _right _\- "

She knew what ruling as according to 'what's right' got a country, and it was something she swore never to be a part of ever again. 'What's right' simply _bred _the buzzards and maggots that thrived as parasites on 'what is wrong' with little to no recourse.

"Like it or not, it is the _truth_ \- "

"_I don't like it!" _Marie howled, stomping her foot in a childish display. Edmund had never done that, even when he was a child. No, her son prefered to fold his arms crossed his chest like he saw his father do, and pout. Why was she remembering this?

Something was welling up inside her, begging to be let free.

Why was she remembering this?

Renia turned back to the mirror, and the griffons became two headed imperial eagles and serpentine dragons carved from gold. She tore her eyes away to the dull, grey stone walls and remembered elaborate wooden carvings out of grey, white and red marble. The ceiling sprouted a chandelier from her memory, a crystal one with a thousand hanging chimes shining rainbows on the floor.

_Lost, _Руин's voice mocked her. _Lost, sorceress._

"Why does it matter?" Marie's voice cut through the haze of memory. "You could do _whatever you_ _want_ \- "

"_**Look at me!"**_ Renia thundered, shocking the words right off the girl's tongue. _How dare she._ How dare she _remind_ her - the hastily cauterized wound was flayed open beneath a red hot poker covered in salt grit. She nearly shook with fury, gritting her teeth as she set aside the urge to tear the chit apart. Had she but the slightest lack of restraint, had she had not her _pride, _she would have _**butchered **_this pathetic institution the moment she found herself able to stand!

She would have died.

Control, she insisted. She was no mere demon's whore, she was a sorceress. Control. Focus. She had her pride. She would hold herself to her standards. She had to. They meant something.

It _meant_ something.

"_Look at me_," she repeated quieter. "Everything in here but a single dress and some jewelry is _borrowed. I own nothing. _Where are my _knights_, Marie?"

Her attendant trembled, blue eyes wide and tearing as they darted around the room.

"Where are my judges to look over a service contract and declare it invalid? Where are my arbiters to make the arrest? What people do my laws and customs apply to, Marie? Where am I queen of?"

"Rutenia," she whispered in turn.

"I was _summoned," _she said with a humorless bark of laughter. "I'm _lost. _I am not entirely sure where my kingdom is on the bloody _map!_" She waved a hand. "North, somewhere. Hundreds of leagues away by sea, at least, across an entire mountain range and cold desert for who knows how far, even were I to find the Paths - " she interrupted herself, before she gave it all away to a servant girl. "- what do I have beside my name and crown?"

"He has to listen, at least!" Marie rallied. "You are worth _more_ than he is, he has to listen to you!"

Worth?

If anyone on this wretched plane of existence were to find out the truth, she'd be worth _nothing._

_Less _than nothing.

They would _brand _her.

"Siesta _accepted, _you said so yourself. What _right _do I have to interfere?" When Marie didn't answer, Renia smiled thinly. It had never been about rights with Marie, but about power. She knew that mindset well. "By what God given right does Rutenia pass judgment on Tristain?"

Marie flinched, tears now freely flowing.

"You're better," she said, voice aching with some emotion Renia couldn't place. "You're _better_."

"We aren't," she could only say. A peasant serf had no more rights than the common folk of Halkeginia, in fact he may have even less as property of the land. To be bought and sold like cattle, from one master to another. She knew first hand that the grass was not any greener on the other side, it was just as dead and brown as it was everywhere else. The only solution was to rip it up down to the bedrock, and start over again. "We are simply different."

"_Renia," _Marie whispered. "_Please."_

"This is a problem of her own making," Renia replied coldly. "She should have said no."

The way Marie looked at her then was fascinating. She could see the minute shift in opinion in the way the blue eyes narrowed and wide lips thinned until they whitened. She could see it in the way Marie balled her fists and hid them behind her back as if she could just forget she had hands, so that they wouldn't do something she would regret.

"You don't _understand," _Marie bit out low, dangerously. "You people never understand. We can't _say no."_

Renia was well aware that people sold themselves for little. She knew people valued themselves too low, that inconsequential things like avoiding discomfort or pain were worth anything at all. That sentimental things like reputation or _family_ were things people clung to. She was aware of it. One could always refuse. It just meant you had to accept the consequences that came with it. It was one of the basic lessons; price yourself accurately.

Her mother had helped her learn.

Weakness was death.

"Then it remains your problem, that you must solve." Renia shook her head and allowed herself to sigh as she picked up the brush, and ran it through a dark lock of gently curling hair. "What do you have that Count Mott would want in exchange for your friend?"

Marie's eyes simply narrowed further.

"And if he gets violent?" Renia asked mildly. "What then?"

"You - " Marie stopped, eyes lighting on the gold chain sleeve with its red rubies lying on the dresser. She blanched as her gaze dropped to the floor, where the sanguine flow of blood Renia coughed up remained as a faint stain. "_Oh."_

"Yes," she said dryly. "_Oh._" She allowed the brush to calm her, to settle the seething anger into something she could channel productively. She had said nothing that wasn't the truth, but the fact remained that if she were to _insist, _she might be accommodated. There was nothing in it for her, though. The girl had accepted the job. It would make things awkward and paint a far less sympathetic view of her to the nobility of this land if they believed she would condemn them for doing nothing illegal, or even particularly immoral. There was nothing in it for her. She would have to pick and choose her battles, and waging one based merely on simple _fear of exploitation _on the behalf of a _peasant _was absurd.

There was nothing in it for her.

There was nothing in it for _her_.

She held up her other hand free of the brush, and the single ruby in the palm of her Arcanum twisted itself free. She hesitated for the slightest moment. She would be careful, she promised herself. She would be careful. She set the brush down and stood up, holding the red gem out gingerly, as if touching it was painful. Marie was quick to take it from her.

"To - to buy - ?"

"You must be the one to find a solution to this," Renia informed her with a slight shake of her head. If she was reading Marie right, and she was, there could be only one outcome to this. "But if worst comes to worst, you have my permission to use _my _magic against him."

Shock thrummed through Marie's frame. "But I can't! I - "

"You _can," _Renia said simply as she closed Marie's fingers around the ruby. Technically, anyone could. Once. "All you have to do, is ask." She tightened her grip to just above what would be painful. "And be prepared to pay a_ price_."

Marie looked up at her. Somehow, despite the girl towering over her by a good two to three inches, she looked up at her. "_Thank you."_

Renia did not smile. "But Marie, you are to _**never**_ address me by name again, do you understand?"

Her blue eyes went wide. "Yes, I - I apologize, it will never happen again, your imperial majesty."

"I believe you." Renia released her. Marie sketched a quick, frightened curtsy and ran from the room, leaving the Dowager Empress alone once again.

She'd known about a hundred men like this Count Mott character and she was sure she would go on to know hundreds more in her lifetime. Braggarts, one and all, with little political acumen, too much ambition and little worth beyond what their birth gave them. She would not miss him.

She picked up the brush again and turned back to the mirror. Only then did she notice that her pupils had become slitted within blood red irises. She huffed a laugh. It was of no consequence. Best case scenario, the girl would be hers forever. They had become well acquainted, she and the maid, sharing little, personal details. Edited on her end, of course, and no doubt just a bit of falsehood in what Marie shared with her in turn, but there was enough truth there. Worst case?

No one would miss Count Mott.

And no one worth worrying about would miss Marie.

* * *

She opened her eyes.

The twin moons were high in the sky, at the apex point before the descent, spilling their silver light into her room through the high, thin windows. Renia allowed herself a moment to admire the stars she could view through the cloudy glass before sitting up.

_It has returned?_

_Yes, _her anchor murmured. _Bound still._

She smiled. _These people continue to surprise me. Something in the water?_

She got out of bed, running a careless left hand through the curls of her hair as she dropped the sleeping shift, and a green, brown and gold dress shrouded her. It mattered not what color she wore, or even if she wore anything at all, but it never hurt to cover all bases. She slipped her bare right arm through her Arcanum. She gestured with her right hand. Up, right, down, left.

_Conceal._

The contrast of the world deepened. Shadows darkened and the silver moonlight glowed. The familiar weight was a bit off with the missing gem, but she did not allow it to bother her. She would be reclaiming it soon enough.

She slipped out of her room as a wraith, silent and unseen following a shadow.

She passed the rare servant carrying out late night duties to the dim light of candles and the odd student out passed curfew. There was one blond boy waxing poetic on the virtues of his girl with all the sincerity of a Capital lawyer, something that made her roll her eyes as she brushed past them.

There at the southern gates, two girls painstakingly crawled forward one foot in front of the other. The shorter one was being supported awkwardly as little more than dead weight by the taller one, both wearing clothes spotted with light coloring and darker splashes. It was hard to see the exact color of their clothes, until both passed from the shadows of the trees lining the southern gate path into the moonlight.

Near every inch of them was stained slickly with a deep, dark red. Marie's cream and blue dress was torn at the shoulder with a wound that could have come from a sword, and she clutched a large ruby in her fist with a white knuckled grip.

Renia dropped her concealment to make the last few steps in plain sight. "It did not go well, I take it."

Marie shuddered and listed to the side for a moment before she caught herself. She gently knelt, lowering her burden to the ground. What could only be Siesta was dressed in an evocative outfit of white silk, soaked through with bloody stains. She was barely coherent, staring up at the sky as if it held all the secrets of the world.

Resilient_, _she thought, recognizing the symptoms. A simple night of sleep would soothe the aftershocks. There would be nightmares and terrors. Nothing could be done about that, but for one without the potential, such light consequences were remarkable.

"That cut will have to be cleaned," she noted clinically as she knelt before them. Marie shrugged the other shoulder. Renia clucked her tongue once. "And my ruby?"

It was held out, silently. It was clean.

The Price had been paid then.

A g_ood_ one that went above and beyond what the demon would have ever asked for. It was glutted, sated on blood and so it did not turn on the girl. Nothing kept it from claiming more than Marie had to give.

Nothing but a capricious whim.

A lucky whim.

"Thank you," she smiled gently as she reattached it to the palm of her right hand. "This one is very flexible," she began. "I myself use it for a variety of tasks and it performs equally well at all of them."

Marie's blue eyes silently stared up at her. Her face was pale, a cut on her brow had a bead of blood welling within it as the dried streak of old blood ran down the right side of her face.

"You could have asked this one to do _anything." _Renia kept the gentle smile on. "To whisk someone away, to steal into a guarded manor, to put people to sleep, to _change someone's mind_."

It could have.

Renia knew very well that there had been only one outcome to this.

It took a moment before the girl shuddered. "I asked it - I just wanted - " she mumbled. "I just - "

"_Vengeance_," Renia finished for her, savoring the word with a purr. "Was it worth it?"

Marie shuddered again, and then lunged forward, catching the queen entirely by surprise as she felt a strong, one armed grip wrap around her as Marie buried her head into Renia's shoulder. The girl's great, wracking sobs trembled through her rib cage, feeling as if it was rattling her from head to toe through her spine.

"_No!" _Marie howled.

It never is, Renia thought, but done properly it can be satisfying. She wrapped her arms around the girl, ignored the way the blood clung to all three of them. They were warm, even as the blood dried cold. They were children, she thought suddenly.

"It is all right," she murmured into Marie's ear softly. "Don't cry, don't cry, child. I will make it right. I will make it right." She shushed her. "_Sleep,_" she whispered. Down, down, right. "_Sleep,_ it will be different tomorrow."

She was suddenly reminded of Edmund.

She shoved the emotion away.

* * *

"He was a bit of a bastard, wasn't he?" Renia said to herself as she carefully tucked Siesta in. She could see glimmers, flashes of the memory of her time at the manor through her shallow mind delve. This demon wasn't like the other one, suited more for delicate work than brute force, but delicate was all she had right now. It would have to do. "Just a little."

Mott hadn't the time to spoil her. Nothing more than a few forceful kisses and unwanted touches. She'd forgotten the last time she got into a tizzy over such things. She knew she had been well over it by the time she married. She hadn't wanted to either, but she also _needed _a son.

And Eadred had adored her.

With a few shifts of detail, Count Mott became the vile specimen Marie thought he was. Nothing the physical proof would refute, but enough. What color had she made the drapes in Marie's memory? She faltered for a moment, then shrugged. It did not truly matter. Such a small detail would be seen as inconsequential and ever were it to become relevant one day, well, people remembered the same events differently all the time.

She got up from the bedside, sparing a glance for the ruined clothing dumped into the corner. Before her eyes, her shadows soaked up the blood and rendered the clothes to ash they then scattered about the room.

She found her way to one of the school's many balconies. The twin moons large in the sky, waxing. She hadn't been here long enough to calculate their lunar months, but Louise's memories suggested they were close. There was a bit of hope in that. That some things were so close that had no real reason to be. Not unless they were close through the Paths as well.

She hoped.

It was an uncertain, deadly road. She might never find the right one. Who knew how many 'close' worlds were out there? With one, two, or three moons? Two suns? With magic and elves and spirits…

And were she to return, what awaited her?

Time, she thought. What else could she do? Beg forgiveness from one who had chosen not to give her the chance? Hope her mortal enemy's vaunted compassion extended to her? She would have no choice then, but to bury the sorceress and let time wipe the slate clean.

She would outlive her son.

She always would have.

She circled her index finger and grasped the created cigarette. She brought it to her mouth and slowly inhaled. She exhaled the cloud of bitter smoke even as she flicked the butt away, watching it crumble into ash as it fell.

"You made it sound easy," Longueville said in lieu of a greeting. "Doing what the elves do."

"Easy," Renia murmured. She raised her right hand and waved it around vaguely in the air. "Explain how you came to be here."

"Threshold of enchanted dirt at the door of your maid." The 'secretary' moved to her side, leaning on the railing. "Dozens of people saw her run out on some kind of errand, all I needed to know was when she returned. And if it was late." Longueville brushed a strand of dark, green hair behind her ear. "And it was."

Renia smiled helplessly. "Fair enough."

"Mott?"

Renia hummed an affirmative. "With nothing but a jewel."

She didn't see her telekinetically lug two bloodstained girls through the halls of the Academy. She didn't see her bathe them, and change their clothes to put them to sleep. She wasn't sure what the woman suspected, but at least one thread would be confirmed whenever the news got out. Longueville could point fingers, but her hands were clean. What the girls remembered happening had very little to do with what actually happened, but rather a more convenient truth.

One girl storming a manor with nothing but a dress and a gem was absurd, of course. Who could say what truly occurred? Even now the remains were being altered to fit another narrative.

It would cost her, but then, it always has.

"Whatever, none of my business, right?"

She took the olive branch for what it was. "Just as your business, is none of mine."

The two shared a smile.

"It's not easy," Renia allowed. "It's delicate. It calls for discipline, wit and no small amount of stubbornness." She looked Longueville in the eyes. "Weakness is death. You can never afford to be careless, for the rest of your life."

"What else is new?" Longueville said with a secretive smile.

Renia almost said something. She almost gave a warning. She almost tried to convince the woman that it wasn't worth it. That she had to know what she was truly getting into. That all of the assumptions she was making right now were _wrong. _It wasn't a discipline one could learn on the way, or stumble in to. It was hard, it was harsh, it was brutal and you were _damned._

Her Payment burned on her tongue.

* * *

The foreign queen came to a stop just before the forest began. The boughs of the trees loomed over them, shielding them from the glare of the twin moons in the sky. She looked around as if inspecting the area for flaws, or perhaps for watchers, before she gestured with her right arm. Longueville would love to say that she didn't follow the shine of gold around with her gaze, but that would be lying.

"Two things, I am going to need an oath from you never to reveal that I was the one who did this for you."

"Worried I'm going to blab?"

The queen smiled thinly. "In case the verdict of the Church is very much not in my favor, I would rather not have you on my conscience."

On her conscience. That was a funny way of saying 'loose end.'

Longueville held up her wand with a one armed shrug. She had already come this far. "I swear by the Founder never to reveal to anyone the - "

"Haunting," the queen said with an odd cadence and a chill went up Longueville's spine.

"The origin of the Haun_ting_ \- !"

Something shuddered within her. It felt like a massive lever or switch was slowly flipping open. It shivered through her, weakening her legs and squeezing the air from her lungs. She gasped at the strange feeling, falling against a tree. The shadows seemed to _move._

There was a sound of shuffling. Her head whipped towards it, finding nothing but a black cat. It yawned, vicious white teeth larger than its mouth gleamed in the darkness. It stepped forward underneath a sliver of pale moonlight, and that was when she saw the eyes.

Its shadow was full of them.

That was the moment she realized she may have underestimated _everything._

"The second thing," Renia said, sounding so very far away.

"You _**run**__."_


	8. Chapter 8

_**QUEEN OF RUIN**_

* * *

Longueville woke screaming.

Something grabbed her, almost smothering her in a soft warmth she found herself clinging to. _Tiffania. _Warmth was good, her mind nearly babbled as she sucked in large, gulping gasps of air. Her heart hammered within her chest as if it was trying to break out as she clung to whatever the warm thing was with everything she had. Warmth was good. It was the cold that was dangerous, and the cold had been everywhere. She did not even think of moving, half-convinced that the warmth would simply evaporate if she allowed herself to believe.

" - ueville, you are safe."

"Safe?" she croaked with a throat long gone hoarse from screaming, feeling like she had never known the word. Some part of her knew it. Some part buried deep seemed to thaw, allowing her to notice the little, inconsequential things. The smell of morning dew on wet grass and the earthy tones of scraped bark. The ever present chill in her bones had faded. The pain, the freezing, _burning _pain in her side, across her back and her _face _was gone. "Safe…"

"Yes, safe," a woman's voice told her. "Look, the dawn has arrived."

She turned her head and glimpsed a light blue on the horizon between the branches of gnarled trees.

She had eyes, she realized. They were in a clearing, surrounded by the stately figures of tall oaks and smaller saplings of spring. The shadows were stationary. There were no eyes looking for her. One of the trees on the far side held deep gashes, as if something was tearing its way through the forest. The wounds bled sap and was glittering with dark ice.

They found her, in the end. They had been so close.

"Dawn," she whispered. She closed her eyes, welcoming the familiar darkness as she forced her fingers open and pulled away from the warmth. Breathe, Matilda, she thought. In. Out. In…she buried her face in her hands, ignoring the way her shoulders shook with each breath. Some tiny voice was screaming at her about letting her guard down. She ignored it.

She packed the nightmares away in her head.

"Dawn," she murmured again. "I thought…"

"It would never come?" The voice she now remembered belonged to the foreign queen, Renia de Rutenia, asked with a soft, knowing tone. "Yes, the Haunting, it - it seems to last forever, doesn't it?" There was a rustling sound, as if the woman was settling in place. "It would have, had you failed."

Longueville shuddered, a chill violently seizing her spine.

_Forever_…

Slim, cool fingers gently pulled at her chin, lifting her head until she came face to face with the Dowager Empress of Rutenia. Longueville stared into blood red eyes, noticing pupils slit like a cat's widen and then narrow. The woman let out a slight gasp before her lips curled into a small, but satisfied smile.

"Oh, look at _you_."

With a gesture of her right hand, one of _them _burst from the rubies on her arm. She flinched back, but did not scream. She'd learned not to scream. No one heard her, no one but them. She watched warily as the thing siphoned water seemingly from the air, coalescing it into a flat, round plane of water.

Renia noticed. "I will not allow it to harm you."

Longueville smiled a thin, cold smile. "You don't say that it won't harm me, or that it can't."

"Because it would, if it could." The woman smiled back. "But it is _mine, _and I would not allow it."

"Wouldn't you?" Longueville knew what she saw in the other woman when they spoke briefly in the office. The hint of knowing in her smile, and callous disregard for anyone or anything not of use to her. She'd seen it before in many people and each one were monsters in their own way.

"Had I wanted you dead, there are less esoteric ways," Renia gently chided her and held the plane of water bound by a shadow out.

Longueville looked into her reflection.

Blood red eyes stared back at her.

The air in her lungs left her in a rush. She raised a trembling hand to her face and idly traced underneath her left eye.

"I - I can't - "

"Hmm?" The foreign queen raised a questioning eyebrow. "Oh, of course, it is a rather noticeable difference, isn't it?"

Before she could even respond, she found her jaw in a burning cold grip, the ruby on Renia's palm digging into her chin. It felt like she was grabbing something _inside _even as the queen's cold fingers burrowed into her cheek and jaw. The cold clenched within, as if something was being compressed and it _burned._

Then she was let go, before she could do more than gasp.

"There," the queen said. "Good as new."

Longueville blinked, breathing harshly as she clutched the cold skin of her face. The water mirror was presented again, and this time she could see the bloody coloring of her eyes was gone. She let out a long hiss, stamping out the familiar urge to fight back against the pain. To retaliate. She let it simmer. She let it warm her from the inside where no one could see.

"No warning," she rasped instead.

"It hurt, I know," Renia said softly. "Pain is an important part of the process. It would be best, if you were to get used to it." The woman stood, banishing her mirror of water and Longueville watched as the thing crawled back into the gem it came from. She could see the tiny, silver lettering around each gem and the subtle blue glow. "I will not claim to be the best teacher," the queen said, absently brushing off stray bits of grass that clung to her green and gold dress. "However, teach you I will, should you wish it."

Longueville scrambled to her feet. She immediately felt light-headed and stumbled, grabbing onto the rough bark of a nearby tree to steady herself. She forced herself to speak.

"I have a choice?"

"I will not teach someone with no will to learn," Renia said blandly. "So yes, you do have a choice in this." She stepped in close. "You can walk away," she said with a voice barely above a whisper. "You wanted power, didn't you? And you have it." With a gentle finger, the queen reached out and tapped her on the forehead. "It is just waiting for a contract. Take care it does not eat you _alive_."

Longueville snatched at her wrist, before she could pull it back. "Who taught you?"

"My parents," Renia said. "My mother out of spite, my father out of pride."

Longueville hesitated. Once, she would have assumed that parents only wanted the best for their children, and would do their best to teach them properly.

Once, she would have assumed.

"I retain the right to stop at any time?" she asked, watching Renia's face closely.

The woman did nothing but smile. It was an honest, innocent smile that hid nothing. It was only the fact that her eyes were the color of blood that kept her from believing it. "Of course."

This woman could lie to the face of a Romalian inquisitor and no one would know, Longueville thought.

"I will join you for lunch," she said instead. The sky was brightening. The warmth of the sun's rays seemed to chase away what chill remained in her bones. "If that is acceptable."

"I will look forward to it," the woman replied as she turned to head back to the Academy. Osmund's secretary followed her, eyes still darting in every direction with every shadow they passed. The queen looked over her shoulder often and sometimes her mouth opened as if about to offer encouragement, or a soothing platitude meant to put her at ease. And each time, Longueville gave her a sick looking smile.

In the end, she said nothing.

And they returned to the Magical Academy of Tristain in silence.

* * *

Marie slipped into her room a little later that morning with the slumped shoulders, bags under her eyes of poor sleep and the general air of a kicked puppy. Renia buried her smile, because in the end the girl _did _come back. She set her book aside and rose from her seat. She reached out once the girl was in range to lay a gentle hand on her uninjured shoulder. She didn't flinch, and there was no sign of tension so she followed through and pulled the servant girl into a light hug.

"You had a terrible night," she said, voice full of unfeigned sympathy. It was true, any night that belonged to the demons was terrible. "I should have been there - "

"No!" Marie pulled back, suddenly full of fear. "No, I - "

"Did _nothing_ wrong," Renia finished. Count Mott in reality had been more or less innocent of anything more than being a lecher, but for a sorceress, reality could be subjective. The Mott in Marie's memories was nothing less than vile. "From the state you were in when you came back - and Siesta - "

Marie flinched violently.

"She's fine," Renia said softly. "I made sure of it, nothing sleep won't heal. The rest will come in time."

"Does...does she know?"

"She knows you defended her from a brute, and took a sword to the shoulder in return." She ghosted fingers over the suspicious lump underneath Marie's dress. "You dressed this yourself," she stated, already knowing the girl wouldn't risk the questions that may arise from going to the infirmary. "Sit," she sighed, already knowing she would pay for this in pain later. "Let me heal it."

It was the work of but a few seconds. More time was spent undoing the mess of bandages and cleaning the dress than closing the wound.

"Thank you," Marie murmured as she probed her shoulder with a cautious finger.

"Do I deserve thanks?" Renia asked mildly. Marie's blue eyes flashed, but instead of acting out of anger, she curled into herself.

"He wouldn't have listened," she replied quietly. "How he was...he wouldn't have listened."

"Not everyone does, I'm afraid." Not everyone does. Everything would be easier if everyone could be trusted to act rationally and reasonably, but she knew from experience that was not the case. If it were, she would not have been poisoned. "Not without extra leverage, something to _force_ them to listen and even then…"

"Even then?"

"Sometimes there is no solution to be found in _talking._" Renia risked a small, somber smile. "You did nothing wrong in my eyes, for what it's worth."

She could tell by the way some of the tightness around Marie's eyes eased that it was still worth quite a bit.

Good.

She knelt before the girl in the chair. Marie's breath caught for a moment, and she knew the significance of the gesture wasn't lost on her.

"Should anything come of it, I will defend you to the best of my ability." Never mind it would only be because if anything did come of it, she would be incriminated as well. She was gambling on the very human tendency to rationalize and the preference to believe what made sense. And what made more sense? That Count Mott had unwisely made some powerful enemies or that he picked on the wrong maid?

The mess demons made was...distinctive, and so she had them clean it up with a few adjustments. A few solid illusions of some extra bodies, a few clues and one 'survivor' of the attack.

She hadn't thought to conceal that village.

She thought Edmund would have understood.

Marie was still trying to find the words, so she held up a hand to stall her. "Please. Allow me this."

"Allow?" Marie said, with a wondering tone.

"Yes." Renia frowned slightly. "I know it might seem strange, but you _can _say no to me, Marie. I will always respect it."

The girl smiled. It was weak, but it was there. "Are all nobles of Rutenia like you?"

No, Renia thought. She had not a single equal, nor kindred spirit. The closest might have been Eldbert's whelp who lived most his life as a peasant serf, but even that comparison paled. There were decades of suffering in between.

"Some," she said. She waved a hand dismissively. "Others have egos the size of Mount Elbrus, be glad you don't have to deal with the likes of them."

"I am," Marie offered. "Glad." She made a face. "Some of the students here…"

An idle curiosity struck Renia. "My summoner, how was she?"

"Arrogant," Marie answered immediately. "Very sensitive to _disrespect_."

"Cruel?"

Marie glanced down at the floor.

"No," she admitted. "Never."

"Then not a lost cause." Renia crossed the room back to her chair and the book beside it. She settled back into the chair, kicking one leg over the other as her pale blue and silver dress fluttered. Her right arm was bare, exposing her scars and her hair in a simple, loose ponytail. She had never been one for the elaborate, fanciful hairstyles of the court, but her head did feel naked without the weight of her crown.

It was a trick of the mind, nothing more.

"You have the day to yourself," she decided, finding the page she was on. As Osmund said, the amount of research they did on the Familiar Summoning ritual was appalling. This piece was full of religious verses, approved dogma and speculation masquerading as history. She was half-wondering why she was even reading this drivel. The only thing even remotely informative was the descriptions of Familiar runes.

Familiars weren't all the same. They were summoned to fulfill a _purpose. _Whether that be a simple specialty in providing additional senses, for protection or attack, something in the magic tailored the summon to suit a role.

There was no telling what her intended role had been. Not without allowing herself to be branded first.

"Shall I come back for lunch then?" Marie asked, slipping off her chair.

Renia pursed her lips. "I have plans for lunch today, Longueville will be joining me and the invitation may extend to Vallière." The servant girl made another face. "I would never refuse you attendance, Marie, but - "

"It's fine," the girl cut in quickly. "It's time I should spend with Siesta anyway."

Renia glanced up from her book at that, brow furrowed in an expression of hesitance. She made sure to pitch her voice softly and slowly. Few people didn't want to believe the best of those that appeared genuinely concerned.

"You will let me know if she is handling it alright?"

Marie's face softened in turn. "Yes, of course I will."

"Thank you."

The girl smiled and performed a small curtsy. She had been working on it, Renia noticed. It was a bit more graceful and more elegant than it had been days earlier. "If I may be excused, your imperial majesty?"

"You may."

She gave herself roughly a half hour after the girl left. She didn't get much done during that time as her mind wandered too much, knowing what was coming. She couldn't help it, much like she couldn't help her weak stomach in the aftermath. If she did it now, hopefully she would recover in time for midday meal. She retrieved her Arcanum from her dresser, feeling the familiar cold weight settle on her arm as she braced herself on her chair.

_Payment? _She directed to a select few.

_Pain!_

_Blood!_

And once more, it began.

She shut herself away inside, paralyzing her vocal cords so they wouldn't have the pleasure of hearing her scream. She looked away from her book to the windows, while her flesh boiled off her bones and her lifeblood stained her dress.

She chose this.

Her sense of self snapped back viciously, making her gasp in the quiet room. The lack of pain was so jarring, for a moment she didn't know what to do with herself so she just sat there, listening to the pleased murmurs of her demons.

She forced herself to stand, instantly feeling lightheaded. She stole a glance at her fingertips.

Pale blue.

She clucked her tongue. Blood loss symptoms, of course.

There was nothing for it. She was not about to incur another debt hiding the effects the last one left on her. She would just have to suffer through it. Some part of her regretted not pushing Marie harder on how she used the ruby, forcing her to confront that the magic of the gem was not like the magic of Tristain's nobles. And yet, maybe that would have done nothing. It was likely the girl didn't know any better. As a commoner, she was functionally magically illiterate and wouldn't be able to describe magic in any way besides the word 'power' and whatever dogma the Church pushed on its populace. Explaining the differences at this stage would do more harm than good.

A pity. It would make things easier if she had someone to trust with her weaknesses. Edmund had always -

She stopped for a moment. A feeling not unlike being kicked in the chest by a mule came over her for a moment, but it soon faded.

Weakness was death.

Entrusting another with her shortcomings was the height of foolishness.

She would have to suffer through this, alone.

Nothing she wasn't used to.

She changed out of her blue and silver dress, fighting shivers as she put on her white pearl encrusted gown. The layers helped against the chill caused by blood loss, but she decided against wearing the fur lined cloak that came with it. It would make it too obvious that she was cold. The pale blue of her lips was easily hidden with light makeup, but and her fingers could be ignored easily enough. She stripped off her Arcanum and laid it within the dresser once again.

She was more or less ready for her customary afternoon tea, delivered by a girl she didn't know and had no interest in knowing. She nearly inhaled the liquid, craving fluid to replace what she lost. If she hadn't made the explicit request for no special treatment from the kitchen, she would have customized lunch to include foods rich in iron and water no matter how inconvenient it was.

But she had.

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

To renege or not to renege.

She could always make the excuse of being sick. She knew she was paler than usual, and the sick feeling in her head and stomach did not have to be feigned.

She sighed again.

No, this was only temporary. The memories of those that worked in the kitchen fulfilling her request would last longer.

She poured herself another cup and sipped at it. The warmth pooling in her stomach was welcome as she picked up her book once more. With a cup in one hand, she flipped the page with her thumb.

A primer, she decided.

The runes were the only lead she had. The sooner she could read the esoteric language this form of magic used, the closer she was to reversing the spell. Or perhaps it would be better to see if it could be blocked? Had she not mistaken the tear in the world as one of Руин's tricks, what would have happened? Would it have let her be, or would it have forced the issue?

She was ready to assume the worst. That even were she to escape this nation without a mark on her, she would be brought back on little more than a girl's whim.

_She could kill the girl, _she considered.

Sacrifice the potential of her freedom from her contract, for assurance of her freedom _now._

She almost laughed, managing just an amused huff as she turned another page. When had she ever gotten anywhere by being hasty? She stood to lose much more than she gained by rushing, and she might never get another opportunity.

No, the girl would live for now.

Might as well invite her to lunch then.

Tracking down a servant to relay the message was easy enough. Doing so without her dizziness getting in the way was much harder.

In the end, they both arrived on time.

Longueville gave her a look as she noticed little Louise already at the table, nervously twisting her hands in her lap.

"Peace," Renia said with a small laugh. "She is also interested in the discipline, and would only benefit from observing your lessons." Left unsaid was the understanding that the exact nature of how Longueville came to the 'discipline' wouldn't be revealed. The woman's oath prevented it. "Louise, Miss Longueville will be joining us, as she has already met her first spirits willing to contract with her."

"Really?" The girl gasped, before remembering her manners. "I'm sorry, it must have been difficult?"

"It was…" Longueville's eyes glanced over at her and she made a small motion, giving explicit permission. "Harrowing," she finished.

"O-oh…"

"It's not for everyone," Renia said quietly. "But for those who succeed, it can be i_mmensely _rewarding. You have it in you, I can tell."

As she closed the door, she heard Longueville's whisper. "You're good at this, aren't you?"

Unbidden, Renia's eyes drifted closed for a moment. Longueville had needed little prompting, an emphasis on power was all that had been needed. Louise required a more delicate touch. Just enough to keep her intrigued, but not quite enough to take the plunge into the realm of a sorceress.

An in between. A middle ground. One where failure was not fatal, but success would validate everything.

Reading people and seeing that fine line was a habit she had gotten into. Fifteen years was not so easy to shed, it seemed.

"Yes," she said simply.

She _wished_ she wasn't.

She wished she wasn't.

She took her place at the head of the medium length table. It was a pretty piece, made out of some red wood with vine and leaf patterns burned into it then lacquered over. A thin line of silver ran around the edge, partially hidden underneath the long white tablecloth. Lunch today was some kind of bird, she didn't think to ask, with a variety of side dishes ranging from lentils to berries. Part of her suspected the kitchen was putting in the extra effort on her behalf anyway, but she could not complain.

Both of her guests waited until after she lifted the first bite to her mouth to do the same. She almost rolled her eyes. Yes, she remembered that little quirk of etiquette, and she'd never bothered with it, much to her husband's amusement. Edmund had adhered to it almost religiously, as had her 'uncle' Lord Maxwell.

Perhaps that should have told her how much Edmund valued rules.

Stop it, Renia, she admonished herself.

She plucked the red gem from the palm of her right hand and placed it on the table in front of Louise. One of the useful ones. Useful, but rather stupid, more like a dumb animal than any of the others. It was devoid of imagination and insipidly dull. Out the corner of her eye, she could see Longueville tense. To the woman's credit, it was subtle. Just a narrowing of her eyes, and a tightening of her mouth that she couldn't hide. She turned her head a bit, just so Longueville could see her smile. The woman's eyes flickered, and all traces of tension disappeared.

Ah, so she was used to taking cues from someone, and knowing less than she wanted to. Out of choice or necessity? Still, she obeyed, which told her that the secretary didn't share her sense of pride.

Mother would have loved her.

"Until we travel to Lagdorian, you will be lacking on practical experience," she told the pink haired girl. "Trust me, contracting a major spirit is not something you want to do with no experience."

Louise raised a hand and paused over the ruby, looking up for approval.

"Go on," she gave it with a nod.

The girl grabbed the ruby and then stiffened as the demon within manifested, curling around her forearm.

"T-there's something on my arm!" Louise hissed, her grip on the ruby becoming white-knuckled.

"Louise, breathe." Renia soothed. "Breathe, child. It will not hurt you."

A flash of macabre amusement flashed over Longueville's face.

"O-okay," Louise took in exaggerated mouthfuls of air, but eventually her grip on the ruby loosened. "Okay, I'm fine. I'm fine."

"Good," she said. "It's an animal, Louise. Nothing more clever than a dog or a horse, but don't forget to respect it. A dog bites and a horse can kick."

Slowly, the girl brought her other hand around to poke at the creature wrapped around her arm. It would feel like air and shadow, a tactile pressure but no sense of hard or soft. No scales, no fur, no texture.

By the time Renia polished off her salad, Louise was petting the demon on the 'head' with a little smile.

It wasn't enough to rid Longueville of her fear.

Smart of her.

"Lesson one, the contract," she began. "There are two ways to handle this that I know of, predetermined and 'at will.' Technically three, but it is...risky." There was no harm in explaining, she decided. She would not be her mother. "For the sake of completeness, I will include it."

With a smooth movement she unclasped the gold latch at her shoulder and slipped her Arcanum off her arm. She presented her bare right arm, scars and all.

"My scars, surely you can tell what caused them?"

Both of her guests leaned forward.

"Um.." Louise began, paling.

"It's writing," Longueville said, a sharp gaze traveling the contours of the markings. "You wrote your contract on _yourself_?"

"I was not the one that did the writing." She let her eyes drop to her lap, as if ashamed. "I was young, reckless and didn't pay nearly enough attention to my words as I should have."

Young, yes. Reckless, never. She knew exactly what would gain Руин's attention.

Louise blanched, casting a side look at her arm.

"I'm teaching you now, so that it does not happen to you," Renia said strongly, reaching out with her scarred arm to gently tap Louise's closed fist. "This is an example of a predetermined contract, everything is written down before hand and agreed upon. A written contract, just like those you are already familiar with."

"Like a service contract," Louise volunteered. "Terms, compensation and punishments for violating the agreements."

"Just so." She chewed on another bite of - what was this - duck? Quail? Everything tasted different without gold leaf and truffle. "It has its obvious advantages. Everything is settled once and for all, but of course the down side…"

"Let me guess, can't fix loopholes after the fact?" Longueville asked. The woman leaned back in her chair, hand coming up to brush a lock of green hair behind her ear. "And if something comes up you didn't foresee when you wrote the contract up, there's nothing you can do about it?"

"Precisely. No addendum or additions allowed. You would need to break the agreement to forge a new one which...is not recommended, to put it lightly." Breaking an agreement in that manner meant you died.

Painfully.

It also meant that if a situation came up that the demon didn't foresee, say a mage that could banish or kill demons, there was nothing it could do to prevent her from taking advantage of it.

"But at will lets you do that?" Louise ventured and was rewarded with a smile.

"Yes, at will means that you make individual bargains and set the terms anew each time." She gestured towards the girl's arm. "Keep in mind what I said about spirits and their bargains, and ask that one to move your cup."

It might refuse, which would tell her more about how her shadows viewed the girl. It might price it exorbitantly high out of spite for someone that was its anathema. It could do neither, but demand its usual of pain or blood.

Blood would be easier. For such a small task, a bit of blood was something Louise could easily provide without any uncomfortable questions. It was unlikely, but if the girl was strong enough to simply _demand _compliance, it would obey rather than risk punishment. It was useful, but so dense it would be no big loss if the girl accidentally...accidented it.

It was also not at all subtle.

The girl's face scrunched up for a moment before she straightened in her seat.

"Spirit," she commanded with an imperious tone of voice. "If you were to move my cup to the other side of my plate, what will you require as compensation?"

She flinched then, head tilting backwards before she blinked.

"...it said it wants more petting."

Renia's mind went blank.

_Did it just -_

She recovered eventually, shaking what she knew had been an absolutely dumbfounded expression off her face and let her surprise carry her into a short laugh.

"A simple enough request, yes?"

And when this lunch was done she was going to find out exactly what it had been thinking, even if she had to _wring _it out of it.

The girl nodded, already scratching the demon's 'head' with enthusiasm. After a few seconds more, the shadow uncoiled itself and darted across the table. To the outside eye, it would appear as if Louise's cup just disappeared only to reappear on the other side of her plate. Some of the watered wine spilled, as the girl had not specified how she wanted it moved and from the way she cringed, Louise already knew her mistake.

She chose another ruby, and tossed it to Longueville. The woman caught it as if she was catching a live snake. The demon manifested, choosing to hover over its gem.

Renia smiled as she took a sip of her wine. "I will not allow it to harm you."

Longueville met her eyes.

She held the woman's gaze, lifting her cup. "Trust me?"

The woman had the slightest scowl, just a brief furrowing of the eyebrows and small frown.

Never, that expression said and Renia snorted into her cup.

Never was a long time.

And when Longueville took that final step to becoming a sorceress, she would have a lot of time.

"I am thinking of a color," the woman began and Renia felt her eyebrows raise a little, approving in spite of herself. Jumping straight to conceptual commands was ambitious and a clear test of how far commands could be pushed. "What is the price for changing the color of my shirt, _nothing else_, to it?"

It was pain. It was simple enough to see the woman stiffen in her chair for a moment after her shirt changed color. Longueville gave her a jaundiced eye and Renia could do nothing but shrug. She did say it was best to get used to pain, after all.

They - she hesitated to label it 'playing around,' but in essence that was what happened - played around with their loaned demons. She kept a tight hold of them, every so often curling her fingers to let them feel the weight of the geas upon them.

Behave, was the unspoken message and they did.

Longueville was short, but precise with her wording. Decent enough for an at will binding, but Louise…

She was better suited to a predetermined contract, Renia thought idly, watching as yet another slightly off wording left the girl's hair in shambles.

"Fix this!" the girl almost howled, gesturing towards her bird nest of hair. Playfully, the demon reached out and straightened a single pink lock right in front of her eyes, so she couldn't miss that was all it did. Louise fumed, instinctively reaching for her wand.

_And there it was._

As soon as her fingers curled around the wand, that faint taste of something _acidic _scorched the air around her.

"Louise, please," Renia cut in.

The girl went stiff as a board, and then nodded mechanically, retaking her seat. No doubt she forgot just whose company she was keeping. A bit of a strong reaction to such a light rebuke, there had to be a bit more than that there.

Her loaned demon quiety undid its mess without prompting and vanished back into its ruby, like an animal seeking shelter from a storm.

Or prey running from a predator.

"That is the third method," she said after she finished savoring her sip of wine. "If your soul is strong enough, you can simply _demand _obedience." She shook her head, sighing. "I don't recommend it, as soon as you weaken, your slaves will turn on you."

Like they had when she had been brought low by the magic eating spores.

No, she didn't recommend it at all.

Louise's eyes dropped at the word 'slave' and Renia resisted the urge to capitalize on it. She learned this language from the girl. The attempt at clever word use of _servant _instead of _slave _had not escaped her. She knew when someone was trying to use a euphemism to obfuscate, and the girl was a hundred years too early to pull one on her.

Servants don't have _brands._

"But it will do in a pinch, or when you really can't afford the Price." She let her head fall back onto the back of her chair and looked up at the ceiling. Careful here. Be very careful. "There are other options for covering debts made to spirits, in fact if you were so inclined, you never need pay a single one yourself."

Longueville caught on first by the way her eyes widened then narrowed in thoughtfulness.

"You mean I can - "

"Make someone else pay it for you?" Renia finished Louise's sentence. "Yes, in the same way a blacksmith can make his apprentice fill an order in his name." But not nearly as elegant. "Your father could give you the responsibility, a king could demand tribute from his subjects. It needn't be that strict, you could ask your friends to alleviate your burden."

Or your prisoners, without the asking.

She caught Longueville's eye and gave her a slight bob of the head from side to side.

More or less, was the message.

It didn't count as a loophole, not really. A demon's ability to interact with the living world was limited, making them somewhat dependent on sorcerers and sorceresses. If they were able to satisfy their dark hungers whenever they wanted, she wouldn't exist as she was. No, in the end, they didn't really care who paid the Price, just that it was paid and they were able to feed. There were limits to how far one could stretch the 'in place of' rule, but it could stretch.

Her subjects. Her soldiers. Her knights. Her peasants. Her chil -

Her breath left her in a rush.

Demons would take anything they were given.

But it must be given.

"I'm fine," she waved Louise off as she palmed her face with her left hand. "I'm afraid I haven't slept well, is all." She gave Longueville an out by nodding towards her. "We both had very long nights."

"Oh!" Louise straightened in her seat, crossing her legs. "I was...wondering, perhaps your imperial majesty wouldn't mind a trip to the city?" Her cheeks turned red as she forced the words out. "Give Tristain a chance to impress you!"

Renia paused.

There was little chance of anything on the backwater world impressing her, but the idea was not without merit. Her gowns were suitable for now, but if she was going to make a trek in search of the Paths, she needed appropriate clothing. She didn't much care if leather and steel were considered improper for a noble lady to wear or not, she'd rather be alive.

"A trip to the city," she mused out loud. She glanced down at her left hand. Unlike the right, it had a few calluses of wear and use.

Edmund _had _gotten faster with the sword of his father, Andale.

She would know.

She taught him.

"Why not?" she said with a smile. "It sounds like it would be worthwhile."

Louise beamed back.

* * *

That evening, Osmund signed more papers, threw others away and set more aside to tackle later. The candlelight was just beginning to burn low, putting more stress on his tired old eyes. The sun stained the sky a bloody red as it sunk beneath the horizon. He stood up and stretched, popping sounds coming from his back. He sighed, bending from side to side and popping his knuckles.

He took his seat, took up his quill and paused.

Sitting in the chair across from him was a small figure in a heavy cowl that covered everything but a delicate chin.

"Erm," he began, mentally rewinding time to see when exactly this person got there. "Can I help you?"

"I am hoping you can," the voice of a young woman spoke. She raised her hood, revealing shoulder length reddish hair pushed away from her face by a silver diadem. "Headmaster."

"Princess Henrietta," he said with some surprise. "I was under the impression your party was still a day's ride away."

She smiled impishly, but it didn't hide the tiredness in her eyes. "I went ahead."

"Of course," he sighed, giving up. "You are eager to meet the Dowager Empress, I wager."

"Yes, I am," she replied with a resolute nod. "Please," she leaned forward a little in her chair. "What is she like?"

That was a very good question.

"Patient," he said after a moment.

Any other noble would have strung him up by his ears attempting to get solid answers from him, no matter that he wasn't able to give them. Patient, yes, with a preference for white. Now what else...she may or may not have ruled for a decade. She might be benevolent, or was it just her patience they were seeing? She might have been like Louise when she was younger, maybe. Perhaps. How much that said about how she was now was anyone's guess.

"She has built a rapport with some of the servant girls at the Academy," he finished. Her husband croaked who knows when, her son was somewhere between thirteen and seventeen he guessed and the implications about her nation were terrifying.

He'd never pierced the veil. The dragon never awoke. He simply couldn't say more.

"...is that all?" Henrietta ventured after another moment.

"I just realized she hasn't told us much about herself," Osmund admitted with a shrug. "I wouldn't say that she avoids the subject, she's just…" He had another word to describe the foreign queen. "Wary."

"Understandable, is it not?" Henrietta said with a troubled frown. "I would be as well, in her position."

Osmund lit a bit of pipeweed and settled back into his chair. "May I ask what the plans are regarding my royal guest?"

"Nothing more than mutual satisfaction on all sides," the princess said. "If Louise truly has the ability to simply summon her from her country, then we must negate that risk. It would go along way to reassuring the nation of its security, perhaps a few more concessions to prove that Tristain means no ill will and has no intention of enforcing the contract."

"Hmm." Osmund thought back to that meeting in his office where Louise recalled her ritual and upon the word 'servant' the Empress' cup _shattered. _They were going to ask the woman to submit to a toothless contract. Surely she would understand? "She strikes me as a reasonable woman, but I would act with caution. Perhaps the concessions first?"

"Of course!" Henrietta smiled. "We need her good will if everything in your missive has your backing?"

"Every word," Osmund nodded.

"Yes, then we approach her as friends and potential allies. Do you know how she feels about Louise?"

"She seems fond of the girl." Osmund exhaled a puff of smoke. "Has volunteered herself to teach Louise some of her nation's magic and invited her to lunch today."

"Yes, her magic…" Henrietta bit her lip. "Cardinal Mazarin has...reservations, but I'm sure it's nothing that can't be fixed over the treaty table." The girl tried out an optimistic smile. "Yes, this situation is more of an - an opportunity than anything else. I - I almost can't wait to meet her tomorrow."

Osmund smiled indulgently. "I'm sure she would be thrilled to meet you, your highness."


	9. Chapter 9

_**QUEEN OF RUIN**_

* * *

Renia lay in her bed that night, staring at the ceiling.

'Give Tristain a chance to impress you!' the girl had naively said. What Renia heard now was 'give Tristain a chance to see you.' It would no longer be the occasional awestruck student in the hallway or cadre of serving girls that drifted in and out of her room at all times of the day. It would no longer be just Headmaster Osmund, or Longueville, or La Vallière. She would no longer be able to tailor her approach to just one or three people. She would be deceiving an entire country into believing a fifth kingdom existed on their continent. A peer nation.

At any time, that facade could shatter.

She turned her head towards the window, seeing those now familiar twin moons in the night sky surrounded by constellations she was slowly learning the names of. They believed she grew up underneath this same sky. They believed she was like they were, born with the inherent ability for elemental magic as a descendant of the man they revered, and a believer in the same god. They believed that at any time, hostile troops searching for their missing monarch could march over the mountains. They would want to establish relations, formalize trade agreements and alliances.

They would want to see Edmund.

And she could not give that to them.

_She_ couldn't, but perhaps…

She shut her eyes and turned away from the window. She fought the urge to seek out the golden gleam of her crown in the darkness.

Руин enjoyed taking the shapes of people. It liked searching for things to hurt her with, and to see her son across the table in the guise of an Emperor would _sting_. For that reason alone, she knew it would agree to such a ploy. Руин could conjure up an army. It could create perfect replicas of her most trusted generals and captains. It could create the supply trains of real food and armaments. It could create water in the desert, life from nothing, and a kingdom from a wish.

It could make her queen again.

But the _cost._

She would have to go to war with Tristain. She would have to war with _someone_, just to pay the toll. It would take years of torment and suffering to pay that debt, she knew. She knew she must be desperate to be even considering it, and that would make it cost all the more. It would want to see her on her knees asking for such a boon. It would want her to beg. It made her do so before.

Her pride would not allow it.

But it _would_ allow for a smaller Price.

She got out of bed, suddenly feeling tired. She did not drag her feet to the dresser where her Arcanum rested, and she did not hesitate to slip it onto her right arm beneath the cotton shift. She clenched her right hand into a fist and sought a demon.

The shadows of the room shifted. A phantom chill prickled along her spine as a breeze lazily drifted through the room. For the smaller ones, the weaker ones, breaching the barrier between her world and theirs left only small openings. For the ones with_ power,_ it required the weight of her own soul.

That familiar, low burn deep within her bones told her she succeeded.

The shadow formed before her, as big as a man wearing a grin filled with shark's teeth.

_Sorceress. How may I serve?_

The last time this one served, she had asked it to preserve the lives of three thousand knights.

She paid the cost with three hundred peasants.

_I require complete control over the sphere of air,_ she told it. No more petty bargains of her blood, her pain. She would bleed dry from a dozen cuts if she continued as she was, but simply abstaining from magic was not an option. Not if she wanted to remain inconvenient for Tristain to simply suborn. Not if she wanted to remain free.

Tristain would see nothing less than a queen from her.

The demon's head twisted all the way around, with the wet cracking sound of bone. Coal black eyes opened on its carapace and she averted her gaze.

It would not do her well to stare for too long.

_Duration?_

_Thirty days and nights._

It considered silently. She kept her breathing even and did nothing to interrupt its deliberation. Should it refuse, she had another she could call, she reminded herself. She did not need this one. She had seventy-three demons at her command. She would find a way without it. She would find a way.

_It would be a substantial service_, it began silkily and she almost rolled her eyes. It was always a substantial service. Only Руин dispensed with the illusions of limitation. There was only the Price._ I would require sustenance._

_It would be naught more than a favor from you_, she countered mockingly. _Is only one sphere such an effort?_

_It has been so long,_ it simpered in a display of submission. It crouched to her height, blinking a dozen eyes slowly. _I merely wish to feed once again. You can spare the expense._

Giving in, she reluctantly questioned, _And what expense is that?_

_Five,_ it answered immediately.

_Five?_ She balked. _That - no, fine. I am due a trip to the city. I can find the persons to...disappear._

The shadow shook in place. _I wish to **feed.**_

Not clean, then. It wouldn't be unfortunates drawn into their nightmare, it would be here. Like the village.

Renia swallowed around the lump in her throat. Unbidden, her eyes traveled to a sliver of moonlight shining on her white bed sheets.

The mess demons made was...distinctive.

She closed her eyes. Demons played tricks, yes. They cajoled, they wheeled, they squirmed through every loophole, every crack, every ounce of leniency, but in the end, a bargain well made was one well kept.

That did not make them safe.

Five people.

It wished to be given five people.

Cheap enough.

It would be getting them to deliver themselves to her that would be the challenge. Children would be easiest, but she -

There were other ways.

_I will have complete control over the sphere of air for thirty days and nights in exchange for five people,_ she acquiesced.

Its head turned back around and she saw it grin once again.

_Always a pleasure, Valeriya_, it purred, pressing close. _You always deliver._

After it vanished back into its ruby, she let out a small, mirthless laugh as she thought about _Louise._

"Yes, I always do, don't I?"

* * *

She had an interesting guest that morning.

"Agnès de Milan," the woman said curtly. Orange blonde hair and sharp green eyes in a parade position stood at the head of her table. She was dressed in what Renia hesitated to label parade armor, simply from the vestiges of Louise's memories telling her that extravagant and impractical was simply the style here. She could tell the terseness wasn't a result of an emotion, but rather simply her personality. Like that of a bared battleaxe. "Chevalier in service of Princess Henrietta."

The woman seemed tired. It was in the way she carried herself a bit too stiffly, too tensely. It was in the way her eyes roamed the room a bit too quickly. It was no pretense, she could tell a search for threats when she saw one. However, her eyes moved too fast to say that the woman was actually thinking about what she was seeing. It was a novel feeling, having her bare right arm searched and the scars summarily dismissed by those eyes. Yes, it was nothing more than habit.

Two nights without sleep, Renia deduced. Perhaps three. Not enough for an experienced soldier to noticeably degrade, but enough to prompt that tendency towards overcompensation for a perceived deficiency. Four nights would be pushing it, unless Tristain was capable of producing exemplary knights.

She doubted it, but she was aware of her own biases in this area.

"Her Imperial Majesty," Marie began in the Imperial fashion and only stumbled slightly over the foreign word _Tsarina_ and Renia was caught completely off guard by the _thrum_ it sent through her hearing that again.

Empress.

So that was why the girl had asked for that piece of trivia. Technically incorrect, as she was Queen Regent no longer, but then, no one here needed to know that. And no one here_ would_ know that.

"Lady of Karbadia, and others." Marie finished primly and ignored the gimlet stare Agnès de Milan settled on her with ease.

"_Very_ well done, Marie," Renia said with a satisfied smile. She must do something nice for the girl. That she would be attending the trip to the city was a given, perhaps a small purchase on her behalf? A ring or...a necklace. Gold and silver. Yes, that would do nicely. "What is it Princess Henrietta wishes of me?"

Affecting humility was no great feat, and was rewarded by the way Agnès' eyes darted to her face in surprise. No seasoned diplomat this one, which was interesting in and of itself that the princess would chose to put her on display rather than choose one of the many noble daughters attending the Academy to deliver the message. She must trust this soldier a great deal, to overlook such things. It also meant the girl fell into the 'controlling' category, refusing to compromise in favor of certainty.

"She wishes to join you for lunch today, if that is agreeable."

No diplomat, but careful enough with her words to avoid any insinuation of an order. No recommendation of company, topic, place or even food.

"That does put me in an awkward position," Renia admitted easily. "For, you see, I was to make a day trip to the city today with a few companions."

She did not offer tomorrow or that evening's dinner. She simply watched as Agnès closed her tired eyes with a small sigh.

"That will not be an issue."

Renia smiled, pleased. The girl was the controlling sort, but also more than a little anxious to meet her. That could be worked with.

"Excellent."

As soon as the door closed behind the Chevalier, Marie turned to her and hissed, "The _princess!?_"

"Peace, child," Renia murmured into her tea cup and chose to ignore the tone. Her apprehension was understandable. Marie had seen her at her lowest, on the verge on dying to poison. She'd seen first hand how mortal Renia was. And in return, she spent the time and effort building the girl up to forget about that inconvenient detail. The princess, on the other hand, was a more immediate threat. Marie had spent her entire life under the thumb of the noble class, and the royal family was at the top of that hierarchy. "Have you not learned how to act among nobility?"

The mild rebuke stiffened Marie's back, bringing something of a nostalgic pang to Renia's heart. Edmund had done the same when reprimanded. Where had that boy gone? "You're right, of course. I apologize for my outburst."

"Be sure to remember and you will do just fine," she said absently, setting her cup down as her eyes drifted to the window where the morning sun was still rising above the horizon. Her room was finally finished, give or take a few extra pieces the Headmaster felt like foisting off on her. The room itself was a strange amalgamation of several rooms, a dining area and sleeping area separated by carved wooden liners, with a space set aside for some function by the fireplace. All of it was wood, decorated with animal and plant carvings and modestly trimmed in silver. Dark wood pieces had been phased out for brighter cherry wood until everything matched. Her mirror caught a few early sun rays, reflecting onto dim spots of light on the gray stone walls.

It reminded her of Dallin's quarters, in some small way. The boy who grew up a farmer's son had never been comfortable with the extravagance of several private rooms and simply had the furniture moved instead. Most of which he moved himself, to the servant's horror. The schizophrenic mess of a room had nearly given the chamberlain a heart attack, she recalled.

Her fingers ghosted over the ruby sealing the cursed wound over her heart. Her apprentice had shown his true colors eventually. Eldbert's whelp. Eadred's grandson. Edmund's nephew. The boy she failed to murder.

Perhaps it didn't start with her son.

Perhaps she had gone wrong years and years before.

Marie made a questioning sound and Renia brought her mind back. It drifted away again almost immediately, comparing silver trimming to pearl insets. Wood carvings to jeweled engravings. Bright linens to shimmering silks.

She would have it again.

"Don't trouble yourself, Marie," she whispered. "Just thinking of home." She dropped her eyes to her tea cup and after a moment's thought, she set it aside. "I was considering the crimson and gold dress today," she began with a weak smile. "This seems like an occasion for the crown, I think."

Marie launched into a gushing discussion of her gowns that she only half-heard.

'Give Tristain a chance to impress you,' Vallière had said.

It would have its chance.

She was, after all, its captive audience.

* * *

When she saw their method of transportation, her nose wrinkled long before she picked up the familiar stink of animal.

Horses and carriage.

Of course it was.

Their designated driver, or whatever he was called, straightened at her approach, absently straightening his leathers and coat as his eyes trailed the gold of her dress across her shoulders and down her right arm of her golden Arcanum. She had her crown transfigured into a thin golden circlet with a small peak at her brow from which the two golden chains holding a small ruby in the center dangled. Marie decided to match her as best as she was able, wearing the red and white gown Renia had made for her on a whim born of extra leftover material and her hair in a braided crown. For once, Louise de La Vallière was not wearing the school uniform Renia had grown familiar with, but fidgeted in a tasteful cream colored dress with pink hems by the carriage.

She looked uncomfortable in it, or perhaps just uncomfortable with the situation. While not at the point of having bags under her eyes, there was a certain haggard cast to her face that told Renia the girl had been up most of the night worrying.

"It's not you," Renia said with a small laugh. "It has simply been a _very_ long time since I've rode a horse and carriage."

Not since she was a girl.

"How long will travel take?" She asked the man by the horses.

For a moment, he looked absolutely struck dumb at being addressed directly. "Uh, two hours, your - your highness?"

She resolved to think of it like the annual trip to the Winter Palace in the countryside. Annoying, but infrequent and hopefully worth it.

"I would have thought you traveled often?" Marie asked her casually, and Renia caught the flash of what almost looked like _envy_ on Louise's face. She would have to watch that, Renia thought idly. It wouldn't do to have her two girls at odds with one another.

"I did, but we have other means of getting from place to place by land." These people didn't even have a word for a locomotive or an engine. It would be decades before they could even conceive of it. If they ever did. "You do have the advantage of your airships," she admitted because it was true. Impossible to replicate, but she could imagine. "If we could duplicate your feat…"

"Perhaps that is something we could discuss later on?" A new voice joined the conversation and everyone turned.

A girl roughly sixteen, seventeen years of age walked up to them in a deep burgundy gown that matched the shade of her hair and deep blue eyes reflected in the sapphires adorning her silver circlet. Chevalier Agnès de Milan walked behind her right shoulder with a stern, almost scowling expression.

Louise let out a strangled squeak. "Princess Henrietta!"

"Louise."The princess smiled warmly telling Renia everything Louise's memories didn't about their relationship. "Oh, you look wonderful!"

The girl turned red. "I pale in comparison to you, your highness."

"Please don't," Henrietta said softly. She looked over them all, even Marie before meeting Renia's eyes proudly. "We are all going to the city as friends, aren't we?"

Oh, she liked this one.

Renia reached out and gently tugged on a pink lock of Louise's hair.

"She means relax, child. You are far too tense." Louise inhaled a deep breath and then slowly let it out. Then again, until the tension humming in her neck and shoulders loosened. Renia smiled at her. "This is supposed to be something fun, yes?"

"Yes!" Henrietta offered with a nod. "This was an excellent idea, Louise. Thank you."

Between the two of them, the girl had no choice but to smile.

"Now then," Henrietta said with a soft clap. "For most of us introductions are not necessary, although…" She turned to Marie with a soft smile. "Might I know your name?"

Like Louise, Marie also squeaked. "Marie... of Guéret, your highness." She shook her head then, frustrated with herself. "I attend her imperial majesty."

Upon hearing no last name, Henrietta's expression barely flickered. It was subtle, but Renia thought it might have been surprise.

"A pleasure to meet you," she said without missing a beat. "And how would you like to be addressed, your imperial majesty?"

"Tsarina," Renia almost blurted out. _Almost._ She admonished herself just the same for the lack of control. "Tsarina or Empress will do perfectly."

"Tsarina," Henrietta repeated experimentally. The cadence was off, but Renia would never begrudge someone that. "Henrietta will be acceptable, from _all_ of you."

Agnès sighed. "Princess…"

"That goes for you too, Agnès," the girl said impishly. "Even if you never will. Now, shall we?"

At the very least, the seats were just this side of comfortable, but she was sure after two hours on the road that balance would shift. For now, she let herself sink into the cushions. It was infinitely more luxurious than the carriages she had ridden as a child, and that recollection was enough to settle her annoyance.

Louise looked around the carriage thoughtfully. "What...do you ride in instead?"

"Hm? Oh, поезд." She smiled at the blank expressions she got from the girls. "It is a carriage made of steel with the power of four hundred horses to carry it."

After a moment, she drew on her new gift and carefully bent the air to reflect the light into an image in the palm of her hand. Everyone leaned in, eyes wide at the vision of a typical Rutenian train winding steel railroad tracks belching thick black smoke. It was a black, hulking picture of engineering and moving parts, but she softened it by showing them within the carriage, to the dark wood tables and booths covered in soft cushions as a musician played on an ivory piano.

"A trip such as this would take minutes. In two hours, I could travel the country to the Winter Palace."

"_Winter_ Palace," Henrietta asked curiously. Out the corner of her eye, Renia caught Marie smiling to herself at knowing more than the princess did.

"Yes, the Winter and Summer palaces as well as the Fall Estate." Changing the illusion took nothing more than concentration. She did not ask for access to the sphere of air, but control. It was much like riding a horse. Once you learned, you never forgot. Learning the beast took longer."There is a Spring Manor but," she shrugged helplessly. "Emperor Edwin the Indolent attempted to build it during a famine. There were riots. That was - " Sixty six years ago. "Over two hundred years ago now and it remains unfinished to this day."

Which was a shame. The manor itself had promise. Even with only two wings out of five finished, it was a true masterpiece left to linger in a barely livable state. Eadred had been terrified of being seen as inheriting his father's legacy.

Henrietta slowly brought a finger up and poked the illusion. The image of a half-built manor three stories high covered in scaffolding and tarp came apart in flutter of wind. She nodded to herself, as if she had just confirmed something.

"Would you show us other things from your kingdom?"

Renia hesitated for only a moment, before she let herself smile at the longing she felt.

Her kingdom.

A beautiful cathedral appeared between her hands. It's tall and colorful spires atop white brick towers standing tall with flags fluttering in the wind above large round stained glass windows. She chose the angle that depicted generic images of the saints in multicolored glass, instead of the large front window dominated by the two faced goddess.

"How about the Grand Cathedral of Serov?"

* * *

Much to her pleasant surprise, the city didn't smell. It was actually a rather pleasant city, fully deserving of its title. She heard some nations had cities that could boast higher numbers than Rutenia could, but she had never seen them and didn't care for boasts. The streets were full of people, and every merchant they met had tried their best to impress. She was sure the dual crowns had more than a little something to do with their motivation.

She smiled as a woman handed her the necklace she had pointed to, and without further ado she handed it to Marie.

"Emp - Tsar - I -" The girl started and stopped.

"Please," Renia murmured. "Take it with my thanks."

Recreating the Imperial Ruble had been child's play, as had estimating the rate of exchange from Louise's memories. With the princess of Tristain there along with her, no one thought to question the golden coins stamped with different faces.

They moved on, Louise once more taking the lead.

"This is the Steel District," she began with a flourish of her arm. The street was lined with armorsmiths and blade forgers. Shops with large display windows filled with swords and axes and halberds of all kinds alongside hauberks and helmets. Louise excitedly pointed out a shop dedicated to sword-wands, strange rapier like contraptions that could be used as foci for spell casting.

Renia smiled at her enthusiasm. "I can see why - "

With a step, she suddenly became aware of something that should not be.

Her companions noticed, slowing to an eventual stop as she stood frozen in the middle of the street.

"Empress Renia?" One of them asked as she strained her senses. The trail was faint, or perhaps muted was a better word. As if it was bound, but that she could feel it at all said that the binding was unraveling. It implied the presence of another like her.

A sorceress.

"I sense the presence of a spirit," she replied absently as she scanned the store fronts.

"Here?" Louise screeched, because it could only be Louise with that pitch and Renia shook herself free of her hesitation.

"A spirit here," she confirmed.

More than a spirit.

A demon.

"That is how your magic works, is it not?" Henrietta ventured, looking around as if she could spot the elusive feeling prickling the back of Renia's neck. "Through spirits."

Renia didn't answer the implied question. "Marie. Find a dining establishment and warn them of our arrival. I would have you with me Louise, but I am unsure of this one's...temperament. To be in a place like this is not a good sign."

The girl frowned, but nodded. "I understand."

Renia turned then to look at the princess. Like Louise, the girl had a light frown on her face, as if she wished to argue but was not finding the words. Henrietta glanced back at her armored shadow as if seeking reassurance, only to find her Chevalier gripping the handle of her matchlock with a white-knuckled grip. The two spoke through their eyes alone, before Henrietta sighed and Agnes relaxed minutely.

"I shall accompany Marie then."

Renia flashed her a grateful smile. With that, the princess guaranteed she would keep her memories untouched. "It will have no victims. You can trust me with the safety of your citizens, I assure you."

Henrietta's face turned stern. "I will hold you to that, _Empress_."

That sent a flash of amusement through her. By all means, Renia thought. _Try._

Implying, of course, that she _would_ trust Renia with the safety of her people. An implicit entrusting of authority. It would be enough. And to be truthful, the girl could trust her with the safety of her citizens.

All but five of them.

She turned on her heel and approached the stores. The feeling got stronger with each step, guiding her to one store in particular with overwrought decorative pieces of armor and weapons in the window. Her steps were confident and unfaltering, because it didn't matter what manner of demon awaited her. She had nothing to fear.

The real threat was never the demon.

But the sorceress.


	10. Chapter 10

_**QUEEN OF RUIN**_

* * *

"Say no more, I have just the thing!"

And without further ado, the man behind the counter handed her the most useless sword she had ever seen in her life. It was golden with a handle big enough to clearly display all manner of clever designs of rearing griffons making it just big enough to be over-sized. She could tell at a glance the balance was non-existent with its thin, tapering blade that would snap at the slightest bit of actual pressure. Renia held the gilded abomination of a weapon gingerly.

She plastered a smile on her face. "How long have you had this shop, Armont?"

His startled blink washed the eagerness from his face. "Eh? About seven years, give or take."

"You're experienced then," she commented mildly as she hefted the art piece. "You know exactly what you are doing." It wasn't a compliment and from the mild apprehension beginning to creep into his expression, he realized it. She set the heavy golden item down on the counter top. "I would ask how many you've cheated like this, but I care only that you tried to cheat _me._"

Rapidly paling, Armont opened his mouth only to be cut off by the swift, threatening sweep of her right hand.

"I would be well within my rights to have you _dragged_ into the streets and _flogged_." She kept her smile. "Ten lashes? _Twenty_?"

"I - I apologize my lady I -"

"The correct address is Your Imperial Majesty," she corrected him coldly. "You got complacent, Armont. And that kills."

Now completely white faced, he snatched the offending 'weapon' off the counter as if getting it out of her sight would make her forget the insult. It wouldn't, but she was well accustomed to swallowing slights. She let herself sigh loudly, raising her left hand to pinch at the bridge of her nose in a blatant display of exasperation. She shook her head.

"You thought I would be easy to fool because I'm not in armor, but a dress. I do not already carry a weapon. You thought me some fop's wife or lover seeking a present for him with no experience, but money to lose. No, don't answer, I already know." She pinned him in place with a look and held out her left hand. "Shake my hand."

He reached out quickly, like he was expecting to grab the head of a snake then froze as her calluses grated against his. His entire posture slumped as he realized how badly he had misjudged her.

"Be more _discerning_," she spoke softly, gently squeezing his hand. "Next time."

His head jerked up.

She averted her eyes as if just looking about the shop, but let him see the small, genuine smile on her lips. "After all, you _do_ run a business."

She was not Edmund. She had no quarrel with the instigators of small, petty crimes as long as they weren't disruptive and as long as everyone_ knew their place_. It would be beyond the height of hypocrisy were she to oppose such activities on_ moral_ grounds. In an ideal world, perhaps she would be able to ensure the common man lacked the incentive to cheat and steal, freeing her to remove the unwanted elements of society with a sure hand.

This world was far from ideal.

"You are...very gracious, your imperial majesty" the blacksmith ventured cautiously. "Two handed or left handed?"

"Left," she replied. There was a point in favor of their Church, she thought as he showed no reaction beside raising his eyebrows. Her mother had taught her to hide it, forcing her to learn her letters with her right hand. She had to relearn in the days following the contract, when her right arm had been flayed down to the bone.

"I am trained in the use of broadswords," she said and watched his eyebrows raise further. She knew she didn't look like she'd be able to wield one handed with strength, but it didn't matter. Call it an inherited trait. "Nothing fancy, if you will."

He flinched and carefully put the golden sword underneath the counter. "Left-handed," he mused quietly to himself. "I do have a couple you might like, allow me to collect them from the back."

She waved her right hand dismissively and watched him slink into the back room with his figurative tail between his legs. She waited three heartbeats after the man had disappeared out of sight to glance toward the 'bargain bin' of old, crude weapons.

_Find and contain._

The demon leapt from its ruby, unerringly drawn towards the presence of another. A long sword, badly rusted, vanished into the gap between before it could make a peep. It might have even been able to, she had no way of knowing, but demonically possessed objects always tended to be...more than their mundane counterparts.

The rubies of her Arcanum were a prime example.

Armont came back with two swords cradled gently in his arms and she could tell just from their hilts that they were magnificent pieces. He set them on the counter gently and she reached for the closest one, pausing to look up at him, seeking permission. He gave it with a small smile and a firm nod. Her hand closed around the rose-guard hilt and the blade seemed to leap from the scabbard.

She let out a delighted gasp as she hefted it. It had a mirror finish, catching the stray rays of sunlight from the shop's front window. The blade was plain, but elegant, a little on the thin side with a diamond taper into the tang. The handle was a dark wood burned with scrawling rose vines with thorns and a blooming ruby rose pommel. It was no Andale, the sword of kings, but it _was_ pretty with a near perfect balance.

The second had a subtly curved hilt and a broad flat blade with a silver fuller and golden inlays, reminding her of the palace sword instructor who always had a fancy trick to show off. It was a functional weapon, however, balanced and well made despite the embellishments. She stepped back from the counter and listened to the blade _sing_ as it cut through the air. It sat in her hand like it was _made_ for her, but practicality won out.

She had acquired a new demon.

She needed a new ruby.

"This one," she said, laying a possessive hand on the rose-guard blade. "What is the asking price?"

Armont winced. "Five hundred ecu?"

Amused as he glanced down at the counter like a schoolboy asking for more time to finish an assignment, she asked, "Is that a question or a statement?"

He raked a hand through his hair. "Surely your imperial majesty agrees that a blade like this deserves a fitting price?"

"It does," she admitted easily. "I imagine swords made for left hands are a rarity as well." She could have let him short change himself, but that would suggest she placed any particular value on money. She could conjure more as needed, and it would take prodigious amounts to affect the local economy in any real way. The standard influx of a visiting dignitary spending money that originated elsewhere would be absorbed and she would lose nothing but literal handfuls worth of dirt.

She lowered and softened her voice. "Armont, look at me, please."

His eyes darted to her crown.

With a sigh, she removed it, setting it on the counter. Now, his eyes met hers. "You have a talent. This blade is worthy of me, and I will not have it undersold, understand?"

He did understand. She could see his mind work behind his green eyes, mentally compartmentalizing and reorganizing. He took a breath.

"It is worth eight hundred and fifty ecu. I will not let it go for anything less."

"Very good," she said and dropped her entire purse on the counter. "Eight hundred and fifty ecu for the blade, two hundred fifty for services rendered." His eyes widened. She reseated her crown upon her head and suppressed the shiver its familiar cold weight provoked. "It is worth eight fifty, surely you don't expect to merely break even?" She smiled. "You do run a business, do you not?"

He took the purse and glanced inside. "I - I am in your debt."

Her back stiffened.

She could acknowledge that. She could _own_ that. She looked at his beaming face and swallowed thickly.

"Don't be absurd," she said from numb lips. The air felt heavy, difficult to breathe in. "It was well earned, I assure you."

"If - if you ever need anything…" he said with hope in his voice and she knew he was determined to make this difficult for her. "I would be happy to oblige."

Do not say that to a sorceress, she thought, nearly pleading. _Please_, do not say that. But it was already too late. She closed her eyes and found her sword on the counter.

"What will you name it?" He asked, ignorant of the _threat_ of promise that lingered between them now.

"No name," she said quickly. "Not until after our first battle together.." Not until it tasted blood. The demon would give the name. "An old tradition of my family."

She picked up her purchase. She would have liked to have named it, she thought. Chances were high it would make a beautiful pair with Andale. The thought hurt, as most thoughts of its nature did, but it was a tired hurt she could bury with the rest and forget for a time. She slid the blade a few centimeters out of its scabbard, just enough to catch the sunlight. The ruby pommel glinted cruelly.

It would look splendid under a full moon, she thought.

"The pommel, did you do that yourself?"

"Ah," he chuckled sheepishly, a hand scratching the back of his neck. "My wife."

And she was sure he had children, maybe a dog as well.

"It's gorgeous," she said softly. "Please pass on my regards."

She was a sorceress.

She chose this.

"I can count on you for sharpening, repairs, anything of that nature, I trust?" She tried one last time.

"Anything," Armont confirmed.

She smiled an empty smile.

"I will hold you to it."

Only four left.

Only four.

When she exited the shop, the sun was still shining and the great blue above had not a single cloud in sight. She felt the sardonic pull at the edge of her lips as she observed the people walking to and fro about their own errands and lives. More than one caught sight of her and her crown, offering awkward, hesitant bows and curtsies in her direction. She offered no more than a nod of acknowledgement in return, clutching her purchase to her breast as if it was a fragile, precious thing and not a weapon. In the display window of the shop behind her, her reflection sneered and Renia caught sight of it out of the corner of her eye.

Her grip on her sword tightened. The sudden urge to smash the window, shatter the glass into so many pieces and _rid_ herself of the golden chains on her right arm burned in her throat. But as with all such urges, she brought it to heel. She had only herself to blame. She was reluctant. Hesitant. She would regret all the while knowing she could not have chosen any differently. It was a weakness.

Weakness was death.

In truth, five victims were cheap for what she gained. She witnessed her mother giving much more in exchange for similar boons and she had been taught to price things accordingly. She did not have to convince herself of this. The calculus was sound.

_Cheap_, Edmund's voice said and Renia bit her tongue.

Her reflection had changed. It was a boy on the cusp of becoming a man, wearing a white and gold uniform with a blue parade sash across his chest. He had blonde hair and stared at her with amber eyes.

Her demons were not equal. Some were powerful, some were barely more than sprites. Some cordial, some aggressive. Each had their own temperament and appetites. Her relationship with each differed accordingly. Just as her anchor was the last demon that would harm her, there was this one.

She hated this one.

There was blood in her mouth.

_The deal was not with you_, she told it. _How it is kept is none of your concern._

The last time this shadow had deigned to grace her with its presence, she had been sitting down to dinner with her son. There had been poison in her cup.

The image in the window changed again and this time the boy was dressed in ceremonial garb. The elaborate gold and silver crown on his head with the two faced imperial eagle with outstretched wings on the front, the fur lined cape with the golden clasp on his shoulders and holding the gem encrusted scepter in one hand with the silver Andale in the other. She stood there, drinking in the image and the pain it caused, before she turned away.

If she allowed it to torment her, it would.

She called one of the weaker ones, few that she had now. It strained and pulled at its tether like the dumb beast it was, until she wrapped that ephemeral cord about it and pulled tight. It soon ceased its tugging.

She focused on the image of Louise, the acrid acidic smell of her magic. _Lead me to her._

There was a moment of hesitation before it took the offer, slinking down to the street and tasting the air. It found what it was looking for and darted off into the crowd to the north. She followed at a more leisurely pace, watching the world around her.

The lifeblood of Tristain wandered the streets and she, the parasite waiting for the opportunity. It was not a flattering comparison, but it was apt. Years of habit had her cataloging the chinks in the armor. Men and women who seemed harried, tired with tempers on a short wick. People with problems, concerns and struggles that could be alleviated in exchange for a promise. People whose eyes glinted with greed and callousness, a selfishness that could be exploited for a deal. People who had lost hope, the beggars on the side of the street and within the alleys that no one would miss.

Children that didn't know any better.

Four left.

She would have to manufacture a reason to stay the night, she decided. It was always easier in the dark. She could change her appearance and her voice. She could become someone else in the shadows. And she would have to call in the favors sometime later, closer to the end of her thirty day deadline to obscure any possible connection to the 'spirit' she sensed today. She could conceal it, if she was careful. And she would be.

Having a plan did not make her feel any better.

It never did.

She bumped into someone, like the foolish, clumsy girl she was and heard the telltale sound of something expensive shattering. She winced. She had let herself drift. She hadn't been paying attention. She took several, hasty steps back, experience urging her to place herself just out of easy grabbing range and bowed her head.

"I sincerely apologize for my clumsiness," she said, inwardly cursing. She could see the remains of a porcelain vase littered on the cobblestone street, resembling bits of splintered bone in the sunlight. The man she bumped into let out an explosive breath.

"Do you _know_ -" he began angrily and then seemed to run out of steam. His walrus mustache twitched as he blinked several times. "It's - it's…"

She lifted her head and blinked guilelessly. "It's…?"

"Fine," he said helplessly, drinking in the sight of her crown. It was a remarkably useful thing, this band of gold on her head. Still, she allowed her chagrin to show on her expression.

"It is not fine. It was my mistake and I will be allowed to rectify it." She gestured with her hand and focused streams of wind gathered around the porcelain pieces. Putting together the jigsaw puzzle of broken pottery using nothing more than air was a testament to her given abilities. It was different than putting it together by hand. She could feel the way the pieces fit together by how the air moved across the edges, finding the gaps and filling it in. It wasn't perfect, but she was able to recreate a crude caricature of what the piece had been.

A swan with two cygnets under her wing, craning her neck to check on them. It was a pretty, sentimental piece glazed with soothing cool tones that shone silver against the white porcelain. It wasn't the kind of decoration you got on a whim for a home without thinking of someone. She looked at the man's devastated gaze and felt something in her tighten.

She had a similar piece to this one, in her study at the Winter Palace.

Eadred had gifted it to her.

She closed her eyes, cursing herself for a fool.

Just this once.

She grasped a different demon, the very same she used to create the Imperial Ruble coins and ground the porcelain pieces to powder. Once she had nothing but a pile of dust, she mixed in some dirt from the street and began to shape it. The form came together as easily as breathing. The outstretched wings of the swan couple, the two cygnets between their parents as they glided on silver water with a jade lilypad trailing behind them. She meticulously crafted each gleaming white feather and each silvery scale of a fish surfacing just in front of the swan family.

When she was done, an exact replica of her memory was on the street. The cob was slightly ahead of his family, looking back at them as the pen doted on her children, gently pushing one with her beak. The water surface glittered with diamond dust, see through all the way down to the muddy river bank at the bottom of the bowl shape, set with onyx stones. She could remember the look on Eadred's face as he had handled the piece, a sheepish but fond smile as he had set it on her desk.

_For you_, he had said.

_For us, _she had answered.

She had considered sacrificing her ambitions for him, once.

Eadred was dead. It had been two years.

She bent to pick her elaborate vase up. It was lighter than it looked and just as fragile. "For you."

The expression on the man's face as she handed it to him was awestruck. Someone clapped and belatedly, she realized she had an audience. The crowd had stopped moving around them, openly staring at her gift and at her.

The whispers and murmurs were loud, using words like 'square' and 'royal.' Now they saw her. It was exactly what she had wanted them to see.

It was suffocating.

"Excuse me," she told the first person to step forward. "I am sorry, but I really must be on my way."

She did not care who saw.

She reached out for the air once more, turned on her heel and vanished from sight.

* * *

Agnès let out a frustrated grunt as she scanned the streets once more. She could have sworn she caught a glimpse of that crimson and gold, but perhaps that had just been wishful thinking and she'd been chasing shadows. There was still neither hide nor hair of the woman. She should have been easy to spot with just that sleeve of gold alone.

Nothing.

She let out a soft exhale and turned. There were other streets she could look down - and froze as she saw the target of her search just behind her.

Empress Renia was leaning against the side of the building, her right arm gilded in gold crossed over her chest to grasp at her left arm, holding on to the scabbard of a sword that had a blooming ruby pommel. She was gazing out at the people walking by, listlessly.

"Did something happen?" Agnès asked sharply.

"What?" The woman started, coming back to herself with a shake of her head. "No, no, not much at all. I made a purchase and an apology."

"And the...spirit?"

"Safely contained." The ghost of a smile crossed the woman's face as she straightened, pushing off the wall as an errant breeze swept all traces of dirt and grime from the red fabric. "The girls are waiting for me, I imagine. More or less patiently."

There was nothing to do but nod. It was true. The princess had been ready to launch a search party for the woman.

"Follow me, if you will."

"I will," the woman allowed and together they entered the streams of people winding through the city streets. Agnes kept the woman within her peripheral vision as she pondered what she had just seen. When she had turned and saw the Empress behind her, there had been this emotion on the woman's face. It was more than the melancholy or homesickness of someone displaced from their home. It had been something closer to grief, to anguish.

There was only one word for it.

Heartbroken.

It would be an insult to ask if the woman was absolutely certain nothing untoward had taken place, so she chose a tangential topic.

"How are you finding the city?"

The look the woman gave her said she knew what the question was really asking.

"I feel as if I have only just scratched the surface," the Empress said instead. "So many things are just as they would be in any city in Rutenia, and yet so much is different. It would do you a disservice to make a quick judgement."

She could hear an unspoken word. "But?"

"But," the woman sighed. "It's not home."

"I see."

The piece did not fit. You did not grieve for a place you could go back to, but there was nothing else she could say. She could not push. She could not pry.

It was not her place.

* * *

"You want to stay longer?" The princess asked in mild, pleasant surprise. The diner around them was empty, giving them the space equivalent to a large room all to themselves. A few noble guests sat around the edges, shooting them glances as they whispered in low tones. The table was set simply, but she was sure that it counted as elaborate for the locals. The number of utensils could be counted on one hand with even fewer plates as everything was taken from larger main dishes in the center.

Renia took a sip of watered wine, ignoring the way her stomach scrunched in on itself as she swallowed. "Is that not possible? I have seen the physical layout of the city, but I was hoping to familiarize myself with your country. Surely you have places of history, plays and displays of art that we could visit as well?"

Marie's eyes lit up as she mangled a serviette between her fingers, looking towards the princess hopefully. Henrietta's eyes in turn darted over to Louise, who hastily swallowed. "If we were to return in the morning, I would only miss a bit of practical work." The smile on the girl's face was hollow. "I do not mind at all."

The princess was not yet experienced enough to keep the pity from flashing through her eyes. "Of course, we would only need to make the arrangements then."

The chevalier frowned. "I will be making requests for a few guards from the local garrison."

The princess opened her mouth to argue, but stopped herself with a defeated sigh. "If you feel it necessary."

"I do."

"Very well then." Henrietta bit her lip. "That is not to say that the streets are not safe, but a surfeit of caution is far better than a lack."

"I understand," Renia told her. "I am well used to it by now, truth be told."

"Well," the girl said with false cheer. "We should decide what our next venue should be then!"

The rest of the day was spent doing as she suggested, visiting art and history collections of wealthy owners who fell over themselves to allow them entry and enjoying whatever caught their eye whether it be a play in the park or a food vendor on the side of the street. The chevalier had gotten her guards following them like lost ducklings in plate trailing their mothers, unsure of which royal to pay more attention to. They bought a few more things, including some reams of fabric that Renia promised to turn into their dresses for the day after, and had dinner at an outdoor venue where the girls pointed out the constellations for her.

She had days like this before. When she allowed herself to forget the scars on her right arm for a time. Always with Eadred and Edmund, visiting a zoo with the boy or an opera. There had been that one time when it was just her and her son on a tour through the gardens of the Spring Manor…

As always, the truth would reassert itself.

She put her hand on the glass. The room was modest, but comfortable with a table, chair and dresser to go along with the bed. She had already finished the dresses for the girls, folded neatly within the drawers. She had reasonable hopes the bed was free of bed bugs, but it was just an idle thought. She had no intention of sleeping tonight.

The glass was cold as she pressed her cheek to it. The gold of her Arcanum burned colder.

Four left.

She pulled away from the window and closed the drapes. She withdrew a shadow and tossed it on the bed.

_Be me._

She left the gold behind, transmuting her clothes to a simple red blouse and dark pants. A cloak with a hood completed the ensemble as she strapped a purse with coins clinking within to her belt and slipped out the door.

She wandered the streets. It did not take long.

"Mercy," a man in an alley called out to her. He was leaning on a crude crutch with the stump of a missing leg within a pinned up pant leg. He tried to keep himself groomed, even as his threadbare clothes told the story. "Have you coin to spare for a veteran?"

"I do," she said with a soft smile. Her stomach clenched and roiled. "What can you give me in return for it?"

He eyed her suspiciously, hackles raised as he glanced about the street searching for others. "What'd you want?"

She presented the gold coin, holding it just out of reach. He would have to step forward to take it.

"A favor."


	11. Chapter 11

_**QUEEN OF RUIN**_

* * *

_Is it done?_

Do not hesitate. Do not show reluctance. No weakness.

_It is,_ she replied with a practiced ease. It brought her back to that village on the outskirts of the Orntsy province of roughly three hundred souls. It had not been easy then either, even when it had just been census reports and a name on a map. They were her people nonetheless. Hers to care for, to protect. The knights sworn to service were also hers to care for and protect. It was the one thing she and her husband had seen eye to eye on, even if their methods differed.

She had never gone to see the place, or the people. She thought it unnecessary. She left them rotting where they lay and told herself that she had no choice. She had no choice. But this?

This.

They were not her people. She had choices. It would have been more work, more time spent hunting down the dregs of Tristain's society, Men and woman she would not mind seeing dead. This reluctance, this_...sensitivity_ was an almost foreign sensation. These were not her people.

_But they are **people**,_ Father Kolsav's dusty voice pointed out dryly in her mind and she chased the ghost away with the recollection of his broken body on the Cathedral steps. She learned to do what she must. From her mother. From the demons. From the Church. The small, untainted corner of her soul filled with moonlight had consequences. These were the echoes of a dead girl, nothing more. Five people were not worth tormenting herself over, no matter their fate.

People died everyday.

She was poisoned for this, she thought with the kind of self-reflection she sometimes wished she didn't possess.

Her sacrifices. Her struggles. Her debts. It hadn't mattered, in the end.

There might be a lesson in that, she thought bitterly.

_You may have them in seventeen days, _she told the demon.

The countryside passed at a sedate pace. Cobblestone roads became packed dirt. Buildings and walls became farmland and trees. The sun overhead slowly, inevitably climbed its ascent behind brooding gray clouds threatening rain. Renia allowed herself a moment to simply breathe in the crisp air. It was clean, pure, without the ever present taste of chemicals and ash from factories or the smoke of cars. Instead, it smelled of grass and manure. The strangest pang of nostalgia hit her.

The demon purred within her mind, pleased. _You should call on me more._

_Should I?_

It was an idle, rhetorical question.

It was dangerous to call on this one.

_I could make you queen of this nation,_ it offered. _Simply kill the girl._

_Which girl?_

She shifted her gaze. Some sixth sense, or perhaps it was simply coincidence, had Marie glance over at her and she met the curious look with a lazy smile that revealed nothing. Mollified, the girl turned back to her new book. A romance novel of some kind judging by the cover. Little Louise had long since given up on the proper posture, leaning her head against her arm with a bright smile on her lips and an embarrassed flush on her face as the princess recalled the story of two mud splattered girls in the palace gardens. Henrietta was unrepentant, with a laugh behind every other word. The princess was young, caught at that age between woman and girl. Needing to be the former but wishing to be the latter.

_I will hold you to that, Empress._ Renia could well remember the hint of something sharp and brittle in the girl's eyes. Henrietta was in the process of murdering the girl to become the woman, but she wasn't there just yet.

Marie's death would be inconsequential. Louise's would be problematic, for many reasons, but none of those reasons would get her any closer to a crown. Henrietta's...

Ah, well.

She knew now which girl.

A simple movement with her right hand would be all it would take.

_And then?_

_Remove your memory from those at the Academy, be just another noble with a claim to the throne._

Oh, it was too late for that. News spreads, although Руин could do it, if she asked. A conceptual reset of awareness. She could find another Lord Maxwell, close enough to the Crown to be a contender and easily manipulated. In fact, was there not something about Louise's family? She could still keep the girl close.

Now intrigued, an amused smile flickered over her lips. _Stage a rebellion on the heels of a royal death? You are learning from me._

_You would win,_ it promised earnestly. _A rebellion, or an invasion. You know me. We could mold this kingdom into your image._

It was a pretty, meaningless picture. It reminded her of an artist's rendition of the Summer palace that she had seen once. Eadred had been delighted with it, gushing about the warm tones and meticulous attention to detail. She looked at it, that image of royal aspirations and felt nothing. It was a large house on a cliff, in the end. She had none of the history, the upbringing, the _appreciation _necessary to see anything more.

Tristain was an insipid, backwater kingdom.

_It is not this kingdom that I want._

That gave the demon pause. _Rutenia?_

_It was mine_.

_It was never yours,_ it spat, harsh and cold. _It will always have its King._

Her amusement in the conversation withered.

_There are advantages to having a King._

If Eadred had known, she thought idly. A good man, her late husband had been, but a weak one. He had his morals, but he would have bent them for her. If he had been there as Edmund had, through the night terrors, the pain and the blood...He would have been horrified, yes, but he would have _bent._

Perhaps she could have talked him into abdicating the throne for their son. Perhaps she could have given him that chance -

It would mean she placed a value on his life beyond the convenient.

She rested her head against the wooden frame of the window.

The demon spoke again, its voice once again soft and conciliatory. _If we were to return, what would you have?_

_...nothing_, she was forced to admit. She had been careful. All loyalties cultivated were for the Crown, not her personally. She never intended to rule forever. She was always going to outlive her son. Edmund had been her legacy. No true friends, for that would have given her enemies too many weaknesses to exploit. Lord Maxwell had been her closest confidant and he was gone. She kept herself alone and aloof from the court, satisfied only in obedience.

Not even family was left to her, not anymore.

Mother's fate should have taught her that family was just another weakness. She should have already learned that lesson.

She had thought of becoming no one and letting the years pass her by in failure. It would be more difficult in an age with cameras, the lingering photographs in newspapers and artist renditions of the royal family. It would be another debt _begged_ for.

Her nails bit into her palm.

_Let it go_, _Valeriya_ the demon crooned softly. _Kill the girl._

It had never mentioned its Price.

_I am not such a fool to believe you would offer this for free_. She had been such a fool. Once. She learned. _What do you want?_

_You_, the demon said slowly, almost gently. It sounded the same. The same way it had when she had been standing over her mother's corpse, blood in her mouth. A silken touch ghosted over the scars of her right arm and then the inside of her thighs. Heat blossomed as the inside of the carriage seemed to shrink and press in on her lungs. It was then chased away by the ice cold chill of absolute_ horror._

It laughed. _You remember._

Yes.

She remembered.

Her mouth went dry. Her next breath she let out slowly, fighting the urge to stiffen and pull away from its seeking touches. She set her chin in the palm of her left hand as she tracked the loping circles of birds in the sky as the fingers of her right curled in warning.

She was not her mother.

It withdrew with a disappointed murmur. _No?_

No.

Never again.

It did not get angry. It did not leave in a fit of pique. It curled about her instead, radiating a gentle warmth.

She preferred the anger, even if it meant pain.

She did nothing. She said nothing. In her peripheral vision, Louise bit her lip as she hesitantly asked after some knight captain. It followed the thread of her attention. She could feel it tense, wary, as it wrapped tighter about her throat. It was a work of a moment to press a demon like this one out of reality. A moment was all it would need.

It was how her mother died.

She smiled and turned to watch the countryside go by.

* * *

"Thank you," Marie said solemnly, prompting her to turn back from the window in her room, an eyebrow raised. Everything was packed away in their place save for her sword, still on the dresser with his ruby rose pommel catching the shadow of the dresser. The remains of morning tea had been cleared away. Her Arcanum sat within a small drawer and her crown had been returned to its usual shape on the dresser.

"Whatever for?"

The girl gave her a brilliant smile. Her necklace, a thin thread of entwined gold and silver shone on her neck as she clutched it between giddy fingers. "You know what for!"

Renia let out a little amused scoff. "Serve me well. That is all the thanks I need."

"I will!"

And she would. The necklace was enchanted.

She turned back to the window, tracking the clouds as a west wind gently pushed the wisps of white across the sky.

"I'd like to see it one day," Marie ventured.

Renia inclined her head, but did not turn around. "Rutenia?"

"What you've shown us - it's like a fairytale. The Cathedrals and the mountains and the -" she tripped over the word for 'train.' "The cliffs by the seaside and a cold desert? It's beautiful and grand and - "

"Yes," Renia murmured. "It is."

Let it go.

She invested too much into it to_ let it go_. Too much time. Too much effort. Too many debts just to let it slip through her fingers now. To admit that she failed so utterly - she had it! For fifteen years, she had it!

It was her pride talking.

And what was she without her pride?

Renia prided herself on being an intelligent woman. She looked up at Tristain's clouds. Minimal knowledge of the ritual that brought her here. No knowledge of the Paths, hidden they might be beyond hostile forces. Even were she to use them, it would be as finding a needle in a haystack unless she made bargains with the Elfin. And they always took. She had the loyalty of one peasant girl. She had her demons. She always had her demons.

She had even less of them than when she started.

She _had_ to let it go.

The polite knock at the door did little to alleviate the feeling of her heart finally ripping in two. They both turned to it and after a moment, Marie stepped into her role.

"Miss Longueville wishes to see you, your imperial majesty."

She wanted nothing more than to be alone in that moment, to take the day off to simply...think. It was a childish need for comfort that drove her to manifest her anchor without need.

_Weak?_

_Yes_, she admitted as it curled about her bare right arm. _Forgive me._

It considered.

A thin red line tore itself open on her arm. Marie let out a gasp of alarm, but Renia waved her off with a rueful smile.

She expected nothing less.

She had hoped.

"Very well," she said as she cupped a tentative hand over the wound, stemming the sanguine stream as droplets splattered onto the floor. This would not kill her. "Send her in please."

She took a seat in the almost decadently stuffed chair and absently poured herself a cup of cold tea. The upholstery was steadily staining crimson underneath her, and she knew some of it was soaking through the layers of her white dress. A simple cantrip saw her tea bubble and steam as she gingerly took a sip then glanced up into Longueville's honey colored eyes. It was something about the shade of them, or perhaps it was the set of her jaw and the way she held herself. Perhaps it was the way her eyes stared unerringly at the demon supping at the blood on her arm.

"Marie, if you could excuse us?"

"Of course." The girl didn't understand, but then she did not have to. "Please send for me if you require…" Her blue eyes lingered on the red staining the chair. "Anything."

Renia nodded amiably as she settled back in the chair and gestured towards its twin with her tea cup.

"Please."

The woman sat down.

It was best to rip the bandage off quickly. "You had a dream."

"Was it one?" The woman fired back immediately, prompting a small, wry smile.

"No," she sighed. "Not really." There were theories and hypotheses. It was a common theme among the Awakened, something intrinsic to magic itself that prevented, or perhaps twisted was a better term, one's capability for dreaming. She could count on both hands how many times she found herself dreaming in her long years, and it had never been what it seemed. "It took the form of someone you know, someone you hold dear."

Longueville's eyes flashed and Renia stifled another sigh.

Руин was reliable like that.

"You must have made a decent impression. It didn't hurt you."

Longueville searched her face for something. "How do you know it didn't?"

"You would have been angry," Renia responded honestly. When necessary, Longueville knew how to suppress her reactions, but she could still be read. Everyone could be read. The only question was how difficult they made it. She had not missed the look in the woman's eyes when she had done her the favor of suppressing her soul, just to keep her eye color. Longueville responded to pain with rage.

She let the silence hang between them.

Gently, Renia prompted her. "What did it say to you?"

"Questions."

"Questions," she repeated , leading

"Yes." The secretary's eyes weren't on her. They were fixed on some point above and beyond her right shoulder. A quirked little smile on her lips. "What I wanted, how I wanted it achieved, what I would give to get it."

It was too late to give any advice. Any word Longueville spoke could not be taken back.

"I had hoped it would allow you the time to approach it on your own terms." She bit her lip. She should have known better. She should have known. A new world, new magic, an untapped population of victims. Stupid girl. Stupid, _stupid girl_. "It seems it was impatient, I apologize."

"What is it?"

"You know already," she said. "A king of spirits."

"And what," the woman began softly. "Are you to it?"

A black feeling sprouted a hundred legs and pincers as it gnawed on the lining of her stomach.

"You asked it about me." She held up a hand, cutting off the defensive retort as she set her cup down. There was a twinge of pain as her anchor scraped at the clotting wound. "No, it is...sensible. In your position I would have done the same."

She had done the same.

_Tell me about my mother._

But she was not in her position, and left herself open to the same mistake.

Careless.

Sorceresses can never afford to be.

She could not make the same mistake with Louise.

"If you asked about me, Longueville, why are you here?" Renia mentally prepared herself for any and all answers. If they were to be enemies, then the woman would die. If they were to be allies against Руин then she would...welcome that, even as she would remain suspicious of it. If they were to simply be mutually exclusive, she would accept it. She was prepared for the answer to be the truth, and she was prepared for the lie.

"When's the next lesson?" was all the woman said.

Fair enough.

"Tomorrow evening. I have a feeling my schedule is going to be rather busy soon." There was a hint of apprehension in those eyes. It couldn't be the arrival of the remainder of the royal party, so what - ah, of course. The last time they met at night for a lesson. "Once," she said. "The Haunting is only once."

"Good," Longueville said, as if that had not been her worry.

"Contracted?" A shake of the head was her answer and Renia inwardly cringed. Руин was impatient, but not that impatient. It would wait. Her debt still hung over her. She could expect his influence to start burning on her tongue soon. "Then we have time. That's good." Then again, to herself as blood dripped down her arm. "That's good."

Longueville leaned forward a little, gesturing to her anchor with her chin.

Renia's answer was a small smile.

The secretary rolled her eyes. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

Longueville stood and made to leave. She paused before the door, glancing back around the room, looking for shadows. "You said you were taught by your parents."

Renia glanced up from her tea. "I did."

"Your mother out of spite, your_ father_ out of pride."

Ah.

Renia shrugged her uninjured shoulder with a somewhat sheepish expression, even as the black feeling in her stomach bit hard and bit deep.

Oh, Руин.

"It _was_ proud of me, wasn't it?"

Longueville let out a startled caustic bark of a laugh. "Should I be worried?"

Renia's gaze had already been pulled back to the window. The view paled to the one outside her study, but she had a feeling it would be a long time before she found anything that could compare.

"Whatever for?"

The silence this time was comfortable.

"A tip for your busy schedule," Longueville said with the bored, contemptuous tone of someone that knew the consequences, but didn't care about them. "There's a rebellion in Albion."

Unbidden, the temptation came.

_I could make you queen._

Her gold of her crown glinted on the dresser.

"Thank you," the woman that started two rebellions for power said.

And smiled.


	12. Chapter 12

_**QUEEN OF RUIN**_

* * *

It had been outside.

She had sat there among the budding flowers, sweet smells and cool breeze when her future had been traded for Tristain's to the Emperor of Germania. It had been outside, with her carefully chosen dress that wouldn't let her breathe and her hair braided back under a too heavy crown as she listened to Cardinal Marzarin feeling like she could just keel over and _die. _

It had been outside and Henrietta had never felt so trapped in her life.

Her dress today had been chosen just as carefully. It was the one the Empress had made for her, a mostly white piece with a blue diamond shape cutting into the bodice and carrying down the left sleeve, rimmed in silver thread. It's purpose was to invoke pleasant memories, to capitalize on first impressions. Her crown sat just as heavy today as it did then, almost to the point of pain on her brow.

Louise walked at her side in a pale blue dress, slightly behind and to the left. Silent, with her head down.

"If you have any insight to give, Osmund," Cardinal Mazarin said softly as they progressed down the hall, passing tall window after tall window. He wore his official robes as a Cardinal, white robes with the dark blue tabard and tall hat. "Speak quickly."

"Would that I did, old friend" the Headmaster of Tristain's Academy of Magic said evenly. Like the rest of them, the Headmaster was dressed in his best. "Would that I did." A lazy snake of smoke rose from his pipe. "She's a proud woman, wears it like a cloak."

Yes, Henrietta had noticed.

"Time will tell if the pride comes with claws," the Cardinal murmured.

Henrietta laid a warm hand on Louise's shoulder and tried to smile softly. "These will just be the preliminary discussions," she said in a low voice so as not to interrupt the two men's discussion. "Proper introductions if you will."

"I worry over nothing, then," Louise said in reply with a bright smile that did not reach her pink eyes.

_We are all going to the city as friends, aren't we?_

Such a simple opportunity for _reassurance. _It would have cost her nothing to affirm a lack of hostile intentions before spending a day in the capital.

_She means relax, child. You are far too tense._

And Empress Renia chose not to offer even that.

She could see that as nothing else but a deliberate action.

Tall guards resplendent in their plate and finery opened the doors to the Hall of History. The great oak whispered as they swung open and Henrietta had her first look at the arena. The room was large and round, the idle chatter of some of her dignitaries filling the space as men and woman claimed chairs normally reserved for students. Like most rooms at the Academy, it was tastefully decorated with thick red drapes over tall windows, and simple silver inlaid carvings on the pillars. The chairs were arranged in a half circle, facing the tall lovingly sculpted statue of the Founder with his hands outstretched over a large table covered with a map of the known world, as if embracing it.

_History will be made here, _Henrietta thought. A sacred ritual passed down from the Founder himself had called a sovereign instead of an animal, bringing a wayward child to the table of kings.

Empress Renia sat at the table alone. Her curling dark hair was brushed to one side, spilling in rings to the table as she rested her chin in her left hand. The right, covered as it always was in the sleeve of gold and rubies, traced lines on the map. Her crown was a majestic thing, a high rise in the front with a large ruby at its heart. She was a beautiful woman, the kind every little girl hoped to grow up to be one day. It was trivial to imagine her on the arm of a king.

Or an emperor.

There was the sharp sound of wood cracking against stone, the butt of a spear hitting the ground. "All hail her Majesty, Princess Henrietta of Tristrain and regent Cardinal Mazarin!"

There was a shuffle of wood on stone as people rose. Empress Renia simply raised an eyebrow and kept her seat.

_A proud woman, _Henrietta thought to herself. The bubble of anticipation was tight at the back of her throat, so tight swallowing hurt.

They must be careful not to prick that pride.

"Empress Renia!" Cardinal Mazarin began, speeding up his steps to draw close to the table before them and to Henrietta's relief, the woman rose for him. She extended a hand - the left - and the Cardinal took it in both hands. A fatherly gesture that the woman accepted without even a shift in expression.

"Your Eminence," she murmured with a small smile. "Meeting you is a blessing."

"And meeting _you_ is a wonder," was his earnest response.

Henrietta stepped up beside him with a smile of her own. "It is absolutely wonderful to see you again, your Imperial Majesty."

"My Princess," the woman responded with a small squeeze of the Cardinal's hands before slipping from his grip to extend both hands to her, as if they were the best of friends meeting each other again after a long time apart. "Henrietta...and Louise!"

Something flashed through the woman's red eyes then, but she couldn't tell what it had been.

"Your Imperial Majesty," Louise said quietly with a deep curtsey. Or an attempted one, the Empress gently caught her about the shoulders before she could sink too far. And for a moment, the woman said nothing. She simply searched Louise's face for something. Henrietta couldn't say if she found it, even when the woman smiled once more.

"De La Valliere." The Empress stepped back from them and turned back to her seat. "Shall we?"

They all settled into their seats and with a gesture, the rest of the room sat as well.

"Now then," Cardinal Mazarin began with a small cough and a smile. "Before we begin with today's proceedings, may I ask if Rutenia would acknowledge the gathered as representatives of Tristain's authority and sovereignty?"

A quicksilver smile flickered across Empress Renia's lips. "And how long does Tristain intend to retain its authority and sovereignty?"

Henrietta felt her breath catch as she looked up into the woman's blood red eyes.

_She knows._

No, she thought immediately. She couldn't possibly.

"Until such a time when such is no longer in the interests of our nation," Cardinal Mazarin said without hesitation. From all appearances, nothing had changed in him, but Henrietta knew without looking that his gaze had sharpened.

"Any agreement between our two parties will have to be grandfathered in when such a time comes," she anticipated their question before they could ask it. "Accepted by the new beneficiary in its original form."

_We can't promise that._

She kept still and hoped she seemed outwardly placid.

_I can't promise that._

"We can certainly make provisions," Henrietta forced herself to say, "provided you accept…?"

"Hm?" The woman almost sounded distracted, but she had never struck her as a woman to be carelessly distracted, before she waved a careless hand. "Of course, Rutenia accepts the gathered as legal representatives of Tristain's Crown. I assume this cuts both ways?"

Cardinal Mazarin nodded. "Tristain acknowledges the Queen Regent of Rutenia, Renia Ruten, as the lawful representative of her nation."

The woman's lips curved into a satisfied smile. "Then perhaps you see the problem in contracting me as a Familiar, yes?".

The words fell from her lips automatically. "It is our hope that we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement and foster a bright future for our two nations."

The woman just looked at her and try as she might, there wasn't a sliver of warmth to be found in them. Hard, cold red eyes bored into her, pinning her to the chair and for a moment, she was outside once more, unable to breathe. It hadn't been enough. All of the efforts of Headmaster Osmund, and Louise and she thought if not friends, then at least cordial _acquaintances _and now she felt like such a fool.

_We are all going to the city as friends, aren't we?_

_She means relax, child. You are far too tense._

Rutenia had no intention of peaceful relations with Tristain.

Slowly, Empress Renia's smile shrunk into a thin line. "You are going to insist, and I am going to refuse. Where does that leave us?"

* * *

Where did that leave them, indeed.

Oh, she had recognized the look the girl - Henrietta - no doubt thought she hid well enough. She had seen it enough times to tell that potent mixture of shock and hurt and anger at a glance.

Betrayal.

It would fester within the Princess. She would walk away from the table today wondering 'what ifs' and 'how coulds' and 'should Is' until she picked herself up from wallowing in self pity long enough to do something about it. That something would take the form of reconciliation, a second attempt, if she had not missed her guess. Things did not progress as the Princess thought they would and that was something to be _corrected. _She would think herself jaded and wiser and ready to play the game again.

For a moment, Renia allowed her gaze to drift from the Princess to the girl that sat behind her. Louisde was pale with both hands clasped tightly together in her lap as if they were fighting the urge to fly away. The expression on her face was the very image of resignation where the faces of those around her showed indignation or unease.

A decent head on her shoulders, that one.

"Perhaps it would be best," Cardinal Mazarin said slowly. "To begin at the beginning again."

"I am truly sorry, your Eminence," Renia replied, not feeling sorry in the slightest, but she let her eyes soften as if in regret and allowed a small frown to overtake her lips. "This _is_ the beginning. Rutenia cannot trust Tristain to treat in good faith, if your nation truly seeks servitude for its sovereign."

"It would be no servitude," Princess Henrietta said strongly. "At worst, a partnership. Tristain has no intention of relegating one of your personage to that of a servant. You would be obligated to follow no commands and Tristain is prepared to offer concessions to prove our willingness."

_How generous, _the slave said to the master. _That you would not force me against my wishes. _

"With all due respect, Headmaster Osmund has already admitted to your ignorance regarding the Familiar contract." She made sure to keep her voice light and unassuming. "You know not if there would be physical consequences of a human Familiar, never mind if there are any of the mind. It is said a Familiar will not harm its master, is that not correct?"

"Well, yes, but - "

The Cardinal raised a hand and Princess Henrietta fell silent. A moment later the girl's face contorted, briefly, a flash of realization that told her Henrietta understood too late the implications.

A Familiar _will not _harm its master.

She seized that moment of stillness, that moment of weakness.

"Where am I to be kept, Rutenia would ask of Tristain. Am I to follow Louse De La Valliere around for the rest of her natural life? Am I to be returned to my kingdom, out of reach and functionally a Familiar in name only? Am I to be summoned back outside of Rutenia's borders whenever my master has need of me?"

The answers were in their faces. Send her back and away, said the faces of some in the crowd around them, tight with unease. Keep her here, was written on the expressions of a few gentlemen. One man, in perhaps his early thirties had nothing on his face but knowing, as if he was witnessing the unveiling of a secret he had long kept. She caught his eye and saw amusement in them, even as he inclined his head respectfully.

There was no attempt to hide from him, which told her that he wanted to be remembered. She would do him that courtesy.

"Tristain would move for a stay of judgment," Cardinal Mazarin stated blandly. "The decision rests with the Church of Romalia who has expressed a willingness to mediate on Tristain's behalf on this issue." And in that moment, the momentum shifted against her.

The Church.

She swallowed back the bile in her throat.

No true Brimiric nation would refuse to deal with the Church of Romalia, she knew that much. Even if Rutenia had been on this world in truth, at the very least, Edmund would want to parley. He would entertain them so as not to unduly offend, or invite the Church's of the two nations to speak.

She wanted to offend.

She wanted to be vulgar and uncouth and barbaric. She wanted to scream and roar and rage that they were speaking of _branding her for life._

"Rutenia would accept Romalia's judgement on behalf of Tristain." It was hard to get the words out. She did not quite know how she managed it, nor how exactly it sounded but she was beyond caring. "Rutenia would move for a recess to deliberate."

"Tristain accepts the motion."

She stood and left the room. She took a breath and then another, slower. Marie was waiting for her just outside of the double doors. Their eyes met and she could see the moment the excitement drained from the girl's face. Was it in her posture? Her face? Her eyes?

"Oh," Marie said.

"I wish to retire, Marie," Renia said simply. "And I wish to be alone."

"Of course," the girl murmured. "If your Imperial Majesty would follow me?"

She did not remember the walk back. Only the click of the door closing behind her brought her out of her own mind. For a moment, Renia took in the room granted her. She saw a cage, gilded in dark wood and silver. She crossed the plush carpet and passed by the tea table and overstuffed chairs to come before the dresser with the large mirror standing proudly upon it.

The woman in the mirror looked tired.

The mirror cracked.

Then shattered.

She felt the cold stinging of glass shards graze her face and arms as the snarling wooden carvings of griffons on the frame came alive, and began to tear themselves apart as the wood rotted.

She raised a hand and plucked a sliver of glass from her cheek. She grasped a demon.

_Be Edmund._

In the ruined remains of glass, she saw the shadow form behind her. A boy's form silhouetted in a cloak with burning coals for eyes and then the darkness melted away to reveal yellow hair. The coals cooled to amber as the boy took in a startled breath as if he had just woken from a deep sleep. He was wearing one of the outfits she had commissioned for him, a grey sweater lined in mink fur over a blue shirt and white slacks. Andale was sheathed at his hip, underneath the dark blue half cloak he wore over his right shoulder, clasped with a silver imperial eagle.

She did not know what she was prepared to feel like, seeing him standing there with a circlet of platinum on his head, but it was a prick of fire in her breast swiftly followed by a yawning abyss of emptiness.

The boy took a step backwards, eyes wide...and then they narrowed as they swept around the room. He would be marking the exits, taking in the decor and placement of objects. His eyes flickered to the window where the midday sun shone brightly.

"Where?" Her son's doppelgaenger said simply.

"Away," she replied, observing him in the broken reflection of a broken mirror. "Far, far away. Too far."

Too far to return from.

The corners of his lips twitched downwards and she smiled.

"Are you not willing to accept exile, your Imperial Majesty?" _Kill me then, _she thought but did not say. It would speak as her son would. It would act as her son would. It would think as her son would.

But it was not Edmund. She would not invite it to break character.

Perhaps she was afraid that it would not be breaking character at all.

Like a dog, his head tilted quizzically to the side, but she could easily see the pleasure in his eyes. The boy had never been good at hiding his emotions.

"It is strange to hear. Your Imperial Majesty. From you."

"I imagine it is."

A long moment stretched between them. He did not deny her exile, just as she was well aware that he had yet to accept it. She taught him that.

"Why?" He spoke again.

She raised a shoulder, and let it fall. "They are going to brand me."

And her eyes _burned. _For an instant, her vision blurred and the boy in the broken mirror was a silhouette again, but she blinked it away. A single tear escaped and she could feel the salt in it sting as it ran over the light scratches on her cheek. She did not wipe it away.

Let him see.

And see he did.

"You fear this."

"I do."

His hand finally fell away from Andale's hilt as the other reached out for her. The touch was light on her back and she almost leaned back into it. Edmund had never been a very tactile child and as he grew into a reserved young man, she learned to treasure every time he reached out.

Edmund's amber eyes searched hers through the reflection. "Will you tell me?"

No, she wanted to say. Never. Bile burned at the back of her throat as her stomach contorted and twisted in her abdomen. A hot, wet feeling burned in her cheeks as she struggled to clear her throat.

This was shame.

"I belong to Руин," she admitted bitterly.

"It would be a...breach of contract?" He didn't understand. She could see it and for a moment, the almost overpowering urge to _make him _boiled underneath her skin.

_Like mother wanted me to understand?_

The urge dissipated and she was left with bitter echoes of feeling.

"I belong to Руин," she repeated. "Mind, body and soul."

She had been thirteen when her mother put her through the Haunting.

Edmund had been the same age.

She was not her mother.

It rang hollow.

"The formation of my contract was degrading," she forced herself to say. "Humiliating."

To this day, she didn't know how long it took. She could still feel the fingers of Руин finding purchase in her mind and soul, peeling back the layers on everything she tried to hide. Her right arm throbbed in memory of the skin being flayed down to the bone. It didn't keep her for itself. Perhaps it had grown bored. Or it had been one of its many whims.

She had been made to _want_ it.

To get down on her knees and _beg_ for it.

She had not asked after the Price, once.

"They would -" her son's doppelganger began, then stopped. His mouth opened and closed. His amber eyes were wide and bright and she knew he suspected. "They wouldn't - "

"They _don't know."_

_A Familiar will not harm its master._

"And I will _die_ before it happens to me again." She nearly bit off her tongue closing her mouth, but the words had already escaped her. The relief she thought she might have felt at saying it, finally saying it, didn't come.

The weight of her crown on her head was cold.

Edmund stared at her as if he had never seen her before.

She supposed he never had.

"You never told me," he murmured.

"You were a child."

A quick, mirthless smile danced on his lips. "A few months ago, you would have said I was a child still."

You poisoned me, she wanted to answer. "A few months ago, you did not hold the Crown."

"Did you do it?" He asked suddenly. "Kill father?"

She almost laughed. "Is this really the time?"

He stepped back from her and lowered his eyes, chastised as he looked up at her through his eyelashes. "Is it ever the time?"

Something in her chest squeezed and _ached _at the lost look on his face. It made him look years younger, as if he was still the little boy that believed the world of his parents. The boy clinging to her skirts as they toured the gardens or the capital's zoo was there in the mirror waiting for her to lie to him.

Eadred had been fine, she remembered. His health had been tenuous for as long as she had known him, but she had been told that it was manageable. She had been there as his manageable illness had him spitting up blood at night and shaking as a leaf in the wind during the day. She was there with every physician that had seen him and every pill he had taken. If she asked, he would take any pills she gave him.

It had taken a little less than a month before her husband succumbed. He had woken one morning, clutching his chest as a weakened heart struggled to pump poisoned blood through his veins.

She could remember it.

She could remember every moment of it.

Every labored breath. How his hands shook as he clutched the sheets and then her, rasping that he loved her. That he had since the moment he laid eyes on her and that he always would. She remembered that the bleeding from his nose had begun when the doctor finally arrived with a cadre of assistants. Their low tones and murmurs as they examined the Emperor. The minutes ticking by as their faces changed from expectant to despairing and desperate.

_I am sorry, but his Imperial Majesty does not have long._

_I understand doctor. _

It had been raining that morning. The sun hidden behind dark storm clouds as a heavy rain flooded the streets. There had been no thunder, just the patter of rain as Edmund had screamed in denial, clinging to his father.

She could remember it.

"Yes," she whispered. "I did."

Edmund's face twisted and crumpled. _It was for you, _she could say. She could tell him it had been for the sake of his crown. She could tell him what she had done to keep the nation intact as his father's careless concessions chipped and ate away at his authority. She could tell him of every dark deed done in the shadows to keep her family alive. She could tell him what the night's spent bleeding in the bathtub at the dead of night, screaming herself hoarse were _for. _She could list her debts. What they bought, what they hid, what they accomplished….

This was not her son.

"You suspected for years," she said instead.

"I should hate you," he croaked. His hand was on Andale's hilt once more, a white knuckled grip that betrayed the urge to draw it. "Why don't I _hate_ you?"

And at that she had to turn to him. Edmund had not needed to hate her to decide in favor of ending her life.

He truly was his mother's son.

"I am a hateful woman," was all she said.

"No," Edmund said sadly. "I pity you, mother."

"I do not want your pity."

What was she, without her pride?

"Perhaps not," the boy allowed with a rueful smile. "I - " He looked away in an attempt to hide his face. He had never been good at hiding his emotions. "I will formally banish you. On pain of death."

"They will think you weak for that," she observed lightly and watched his face twist.

"Let them." Edmund glanced up at her again, worrying at his lip. He opened his mouth and Renia closed her eyes.

"Do not say something you do not mean, Edmund. Not now."

She didn't want to hear it.

She couldn't bear hearing it from a demon wearing her son's face.

"Good bye, Edmund."

When she opened her eyes, the boy was gone. There was just a shadow with eyes like burning coals in his place. She turned back to the broken remains of the mirror, steeling herself.

"Thank you," Renia said.

She chose this.

"Take your Price."

And once again, it began.


	13. Chapter 13

_**QUEEN OF RUIN**_

* * *

"Your Imperial Majesty?" Marie's voice drifted softly from the door. The girl dared to peek in, for just a moment, even though her stomach was already scrunching. She imagined the look on the woman's face at being disturbed after being _explicitly commanded_ to be left alone, she couldn't just - it was -

To her relief, the Queen wasn't even facing the door. She was at the far side of the room, standing before the tall windows with her face tilted upwards as if basking in the afternoon sun. She was still wearing the loose deep purple dress, cinched about her slim waist with a golden chain belt. It had only one sleeve, as most of the Queen's dresses did, and was decorated with swirling gold thread. Her dark curling hair was unbound, tumbling down her back.

A cloud passed over the sun and the room darkened. The Queen turned her face just enough for Marie to see the curve of her cheek and the shadow of a blood red eye.

"What is it?" The woman asked softly and there was something about how she said it in the darkened room that sent a chill prickling up the girl's spine. She locked her knees and tightened her grip on the door handle. The Queen wouldn't hurt her.

"Princess Henrietta would like to meet with you." _Only a princess, _the girl thought and deviated from the script. "Shall I send her away?"

It was as if the world held its breath between one moment and the next as the clouds moved and the shadows shifted. There was a strange tension and Marie found her eyes straying to the golden crown on the dresser. The large, dark ruby in its front glimmered.

"No." The Queen said and the girl blinked. The sun was shining in all its brilliance once more, filling the room with its warm, golden light. The Queen had turned. There was an odd, little half smile on her face and her red eyes were on the crown. "I will indulge her."

* * *

Renia took a moment to breathe.

That moment was all she had as Henrietta swept into her room. She was brimming with renewed self-confidence and determination, the kind that made one tired just looking at her. She had changed dresses, wearing what Renia knew to be a more traditional Tristainian gown with a high collar, lace hems and flaring skirt. It almost brought a smile to her face. She imagined the girl had torn the other dress off in a fit of pique and was now attempting to make a statement.

Princess Henrietta came to a sharp stop at the other side of the table with a defiant upward tilt of her head. The table between them was a dark wood covered in a pure white tablecloth that was half cloth and half lace, spilling down the sides in loops and geometric patterns. Renia slowly raised an eyebrow before gesturing to the chair.

"By all means, have a seat."

"Thank you," the girl said primly and sat.

"What can I help you with, princess?"

"I would like to know why we can't be friends," Henrietta said bluntly, tossing aside all conventions of courtly speech. "There is very little I can think of that would mean we can't - "

"Can't?" Renia asked lightly.

"Won't?" Henrietta questioned back.

"Perhaps it is a matter of yet," Renia said with a small smile. "And at the moment, it is rather conditional."

Henrietta's eyebrows furrowed for a moment, before her face cleared. "Assuming that were not a problem," she began and Renia's eyebrows rose. "Let's say that for now, we are willing to _pretend _the extenuating circumstances of our meeting did not exist." Henrietta's blue eyes searched hers. 'What would hinder our friendship?"

Fine.

She will play.

"Do you usually befriend people you don't know?"

"You know Tristain," Henrietta countered immediately and Renia almost scoffed. A day or two in the capital and books did not substitute for in depth knowledge of a nation. There was knowledge only time and experience could gain. The flashes of memory from a sheltered noble child was no comparison.

"Do I?"

Henrietta blew out an exasperated breath. "You certainly know us better than we know you!"

"And you are so certain you even want to be friends with Rutenia," Renia pointed out with a smile. "How curious."

The girl's eyes widened for a split second, then narrowed. She leaned forward. "Are you implying that Rutenia is _unworthy _of Tristain?"

"Rutenia is always mindful of making unworthy partnerships, in either direction. We are slow to offer and slower to trust." She allowed herself a small sigh. "I will admit, it is an isolationist policy." _Her _policy. "But it has served us well. I have no reason to go against it." Henrietta opened her mouth and Renia reached out to her. "Please. Consider our _extenuating circumstances. _If you were spirited away to an unknown kingdom for the purposes of becoming a familiar to one of their nobles, what would you do?"

"I…" A long moment passed and the girl's shoulders slumped. "I do not know."

Gently, Renia prodded her. "Think about it."

"I would not want to make enemies," she said with a self-deprecating smile. "I would not want to...burden Tristain with any of my decisions."

"Go on."

"I would get to know them." Then a bit chiding, "I would share more about my country with them than you have."

"You _are _curious, aren't you?"

The princess grinned an unrepentant grin. "We're _pretending, _remember?" Renia allowed that hit to go uncontested, but she _would_ remember it. Henrietta tilted her head to the side as her grin softened. "Or maybe just more about you?"

That brought a smile to her face. The truth would horrify the child. "Me?"

"Yes, you!" The princess said with a giggle. "Who is the Queen Regent of Rutenia?"

Renia leaned back in her chair and cooly replied, "A widow of two years."

Henrietta's smile withered. "I - I'm sorry."

_I'm not._

_But._

_I considered giving up my ambition for him once._

"What do you have to be sorry for?" Renia said with a soft smile. She let her gaze drift towards her crown on the dresser and unfocus, as if reminiscing. "He had a chronic illness, for as long as I had known him, all throughout our marriage. It was only a matter of time and we still had a wonderful fifteen years."

"Papa," Henrietta began softly and corrected herself. "My father passed away three years ago and mother mourns him still."

"But you don't," Renia murmured.

"I -!" The girl started, almost leaping half out of her chair. Their eyes met and slowly, she retook her seat. She fidgeted and Renia waited. "I suppose...I prefer to remember him as he was rather than that he's...gone." She smiled then, but it was a bitter, little thing. "And sometimes I am so busy, and overwhelmed and _frustrated _that I wish - "

"You wish he didn't leave you alone?"

"Or that my mother - she would have been Queen regnant before me, but…" Henrietta took a fortifying breath. "How old is your son?"

"Edmund?" Renia cursed the surprise in her voice. "He's fifteen." After a moment of hesitation - _just do it - _she grasped the air and crafted the last clear image she had of him.

The demon's image.

And didn't that just _sting._

Her son's illusion stood still in his mink fur sweater and white slacks and blue cloak clasped with a silver two-headed imperial eagle with the platinum circlet on his head. He had his father's stern jaw, she saw. His father's brow, but his grandmother's small ears and slightly upturned nose. He had her lips and eye shape, but the bright amber color was all his father.

"He's very handsome," Henrietta said with the judgement of a teenage girl telling her what she already knew.

"He is."

_My daughter would have been - _Renia's breath caught and she averted her gaze to the white tablecloth. She forced herself to finish the thought. _My daughter would have been beautiful._

She would have been.

No one could tell from the bloody, shredded sack of meat that she delivered, but Renia _knew._

_Eadred and his gift. A family of swans with two cygnets on her desk._

_For us._

Sorceresses, no matter their true age, could have children whenever they wished.

For a Price.

"You miss him," Henrietta murmured.

Renia hummed. "I do, but I'm sure he is doing fine." Without her. "I taught him well."

Henrietta's lips pursed. "With a Council of Lords to - "

"No."

The girl paused. "No?"

Renia barely kept the sneer off her face. "It was disbanded and good riddance." Her first command as Regent, further enforced by a few loud mouths disappearing. "He must have either appointed an interim Regent - " unlikely " - or is ruling in his own right by now." She closed her eyes briefly. "To remove a regent would require a trial of impeachment, and a temporary, involuntary leave of absence would not suit the requirements." She opened her eyes and sighed. "So you need not worry that Rutenia would not honor agreements made."

"If we can convince you to make any," Henrietta pointed out.

"Yes, if." She leaned her head back. The ceiling was the same as it had always been. Dark grey brick supported by wooden rafters. "But I suppose if we were to _pretend…"_

Henrietta gasped a little, but otherwise kept her peace.

"I am sorry to say that your industry is inferior to ours." She did not have the words to measure how utterly _medieval _Tristain was. "By a lot." She did not offer a smile to soften the blow. "At best, you could offer raw materials and if you transport by land, it would be in insignificant amounts. You simply do not have the capacity."

"By land…" Henrietta murmured, already seeing the exception. "And by air?"

"...it would depend on your airships. Our method is…" Her nose wrinkled. "Somewhat unfinished." At the time of her...departure, the Imperial Navy had been receiving its first orders of aeroplanes. She had been skeptical. She would _always_ be skeptical, but Edmund…

_Innovation is costly, mother._

Damn that boy.

"And if your airships are capable of being used in war," Renia mused and from the way Henrietta shifted, they _could be. _"That would be worth bargaining for."

"Until you figure out how to make your own," the princess said shrewdly.

"If I am not mistaken, yours requires the use of wind crystals?" The girl nodded. "Rutenia has no deposits."

"You…" For a moment, the girl just _paused _and Renia knew she had just made a mistake. "_None?_"

"None," she affirmed. How prevalent were these wind crystals? _Enough to float a nation. _Enough to manufacture technology with it given a literally medieval base of operations. Consumable? Or renewable energy? Did they need to be empowered instead? Did they grow? Were they _mined? _Was mining it _safe_? She reached for the knowledge in her head, for that bright flash of memory and grasped…

**Nothing.**

_Mercy preserve her._

The first crack in her facade.

"Our ability to expand is...limited," she offered by way of explanation. "It is not that we do not _wish_ to, but rather - "

"The Firstborn," Henrietta said knowingly.

"The - " _Justice burn her, the elves! _"Эльф, yes." She almost _stuttered._ "Am I safe in assuming you suffer from the same...problem?"

Henrietta shrugged a shoulder. "Isn't everyone?"

"Albion," Renia deadpanned. The floating island.

A shadow passed over Henrietta's face before the girl forced a laugh. "I suppose that is true."

Every inch of her burned to exploit the exposed weakness, but no, not yet. First - _first - _she had to shore up her blunder. There was time yet.

"We would need no defense pact," Renia murmured. "We have yet to find each other on a map, and my people are stubborn and prideful besides. We have survived this long."

"With unknown magic," Henrietta said just as softly.

"Unknown?" Her tongue _burned. _"Oh, you know it." Her eyes darted to the crown on her dresser and she silently cursed.

_Руин_, _you greedy bastard._

Renia smiled and she knew it didn't reach her eyes.

"You know it."

Henrietta's lips were pressed into a grim line as she took a moment to consider what that meant. "I see. We could trade in knowledge, still. There is bound to be decades, _centuries_ of drift in magical theology." Her voice picked up in energy. "If you have anything related to Void magic and the Founder -!"

There was a flash of memory. A book. Rings. Keepsakes of the royal families. All of the proper Brimiric nations had them, as befitting nations founded by the Founder's direct descendants. A ruby for Fire. A sapphire for Water. A topaz for Earth. An emerald for Wind. Four elemental rings.

For five elements.

"We have," Renia began slowly. "A ring."

She watched Henrietta's eyes widen.

"Can you - " She wilted, then regained strength. "Can you show me?" she finished in a whisper. Renia sucked in a breath and after a moment, reached out for air as she stretched out a hand. Hovering above her cupped palm, shimmering as if caught in a heat wave, the illusion formed.

It was a simplistic band of silver with a large, thin tapering diamond face. Embedded within was a polished black jewel, similar to onyx if not the minute white, blue and golden sparkles within shining like stars in a midnight sky.

"Void…" Henrietta breathed.

Renia smiled down at the ring with a crooked smile, half-way to a grimace.

This was a dangerous lie to tell.

But for Rutenia to be relegated to the same status as Germania - _illegitimate - _as well as being off the map?

No.

It was the only lie she could tell.

She crushed the ring's illusion in her hand.

"This is - we never imagined - I can hardly _believe -" _Henrietta was very nearly bouncing in her seat. "Do you know what this _means? _We have to - "

"Do nothing." Renia interrupted her.

"_Nothing?"_ The girl nearly screeched. "You are a fifth kingdom! Brimir founded a fifth! How can we _not -"_

"Henrietta," Renia leaned back in her chair and shook her head. "We are _pretending, _remember?"

And didn't _that _feel good to say.

It had the same effect as dumping cold water on a cat.

Princess Henrietta stiffened in her chair. Her mouth fell open and her blue eyes opened wide, brimming with disbelief and _hurt._

Renia watched her with a thin, polite smile as she absently drew circles in the white tablecloth. "You understand, of course."

A moment of bitter silence hung between them.

"Of course," Princess Henrietta spoke in a bland tone of voice. "I understand _completely."_

"Wonderful. I don't suppose you would be willing to enlighten me on a certain matter? I heard the most interesting rumor recently. About a rebellion." She watched that shadow pass over the girl's face again with no small amount of vicious glee. "In Albion?"

"There is not much to say about it at this time." The girl returned cooly, with an almost perfect diplomat's cadence. Almost perfect. "We have had little news."

"A pity." Renia let her eyes roam the room as she carefully tapped a gentle finger on the table between them. She would not feign disinterest, but neither could she afford to appear invested. "And do they at least have a name for themselves? A moniker, a motto or is this truly a nameless insurrection?"

She doubted it was nameless. Longueville may not have mentioned one, but it was implied all the same. A brief flare of discontent, a mild clamor of raised voices arguing for more food, more freedoms, more rights, _whatever, _would have been unworthy of her attention. It was happening a country away. Such a thing would have been unworthy of Tristain's attention.

"They do," Henrietta admitted. "The Reconquista." She shook her head. "It means to 'reconquer' in Romalian."

And Romalia was the home of the Church.

Too obvious.

Renia threw the half-formed thought out.

"If I remember my admittedly abbreviated history lesson, Albion has been an ally of Tristain for a while, hasn't it?" The girl barely flinched, but her answering nod was nothing but miserable. And they had just established that this was no nameless insurrection. Leaving their ally to the dogs, was it?

"Albion has _requested …_that it be allowed to handle its own affairs." Renia shifted in her seat and said nothing. Henrietta's answering smile was thin. "King James de Albion is a proud monarch."

The King was either stupid or his request had been faked. It was not out of the realm of possibility that both were true. Pride keeping his Majesty from seeking help until it was too late.

"I see." Renia said, and she did. She poured concern into her frown. As far as they were concerned, Rutenia was a Brimic nation. "Has Tristain any plans to address this state of affairs?"

And they must for the same reason they wanted to brand her. Religion. The balance of power in the Brimiric nations was _ordained. _Royalty were direct descendants of their Founder and nobility derived their magic from God. For the common man to rise up and overthrow his betters was tantamount to heresy. If the Reconquista managed to reconquer, then it only stood to reason that they must be then conquered _back _or it threw the entire system into jeopardy. Germania was ill liked and untrusted because its Emperor had no divine mandate.

For a nation with a divine mandate to so openly _fail..._

With far more hesitation than she thought warranted, Henrietta nodded. "We will be...making an announcement."

"An announcement? The time for condemnation of this movement has long passed. If you were mobilizing defensive forces, you would not wait so long to make...an announcement. Now, an alliance? A defense pact, I am guessing," she said, thinking out loud. She thought much faster than she could talk, but it helped when she wanted to _demonstrate. _It was inadvisable to hide things from her. It would not do to lie to her. "A mere trade agreement would not suffice, not when martial might is so...uneven." A child could look at the size of Germania compared to Tristain and ascertain that one had much more to offer than the other. "Marriage, is it?"

Henrietta stared over Renia's shoulder, out the tall windows behind her. "Yes."

"And it is _uneven_, isn't it? You are the sole heir, unless I was misinformed?" Osmund would not have dared to feed her a falsehood of that did not mean Henrietta could not abdicate in favor of another before her wedding, but it would be a risky maneuver. Germania would get an heir of 'proper' royal blood still, but little else. Technical _at-the-time _truths were rarely viewed kindly. A somewhat sardonic smile was fighting her carefully blank expression. "And how long was Tristain intending to maintain its authority and sovereignty again?"

It was the echo of a question previously asked during the negotiations. Caught, Henrietta's eyes dropped from the window to her lap. The glimmer of realization, that this was nothing but a _mistake, _was beginning to dawn on the girl.

"Until the end of spring," she murmured in reply.

Two, perhaps three months at most. It explained why she was here at the Academy and not the Capital. It explained the negotiations taking place _here _and not at the palace.

Haste.

They needed Rutenia at the table. They needed an agreement hashed out and ratified before it ceased to be Tristain, and became Germania. That told her the agreement with Germania was in its final stages but not quite set in stone. It could be altered, if one party or the other gained or lost _influence._

It could be broken.

It also told her that Tristain was _terrified _of this Reconquista.

"Is Tristain to be a principality of Germania, then?" Renia asked idly. "Or a province? I suppose if you had two sons, that would ensure succession remained tidy." She left unsaid what it meant if Henrietta had only one son from her marriage, or worse, none at all. The child was a little slow, but not hopeless.

Renia cast one look at the crestfallen expression on Henrietta's face and nearly sighed. She was trying to hide it. Not very well.

"Or is the problem that your heart belongs to another?"

The girl was practically vibrating in her chair with tension. Renia rolled her eyes. Children. Everything must always be so dramatic with them. Edmund, for all his maturity and reserved nature, was the same. She made sure her voice came out patient, without being condescending.

"You are not the first, nor the last, person to have a lover before marriage - "

"Please! No one can know!"

Renia blinked. "What?"

Surely they could not be this stupid.

"No one can know," the princess repeated quietly, urgently. "Germania has never had the best of relations with - with Tristain," the girl rushed to explain. "Everything must be handled directly, delicately. Evidence - evidence is to be removed and -"

Henrietta searched for the words as her blue eyes pleaded for leniency.

She stood corrected. They were this stupid.

So they expected Albion to fall, then. Remarkable. A Crown toppled by an insurgency, abandoned by its nominal allies in fear of suffering the same fate. It was a story she herself had once spun. An insurgency she created only to crush in the end. She wondered with half a mind who the leader behind the Reconquista was, because surely there was one. Perhaps more than one, backed by an enemy or an "ally."

Peasants revolt. It was a fact of life.

_Succeeding _required far more than just angry, downtrodden masses.

Renia lifted a skeptical eyebrow. "And it is for that reason that you must _create _a scandal?"

"You - you don't understand. Germania must have no reason to doubt - "

"Do not _patronize_ me, princess," Renia interrupted smoothly. "It is for that very reason that you must _own _it so that it may never be used against you. Confess the relationship and volunteer your sincerity, throw yourself on the swords of public opinion and commit to a period of isolation to ensure the heirs you bear are of the Emperor."

The way the girl flinched back, the way her face pinched and eyes darkened told her a thousand words.

"But that is not the point, is it? I see now," she said with a sharp smile. An Albion noble, at least. And not a minor one. Else the girl would have no way of knowing whether or not he was still alive, whether or not her 'evidence' was still secure, not if the rebellion was at such a height that it could intercept communications. It would have to be someone that even the rebellion would _crow _about killing. An earl or duke. A prince. She considered it. _A_ _prince._ "All that additional risk, all the bloody effort, is so that you can avoid having to _grovel."_

"It's not - " Henrietta's mouth worked as her eyes widened, betraying the thoughts racing through her head. "It's not like that!"

Oh, it was _exactly _like that. It mattered not whose pride was at stake here, Henrietta's or Tristain's, but it was clear that it _was_ due to _pride._

And a hint of something else in her expression.

Fear.

"He would allow it to be retrieved from him gladly, wouldn't he?" Renia guessed with a light tone and didn't miss the moment of anguish on Henrietta's face. "He would ensure that he would cause you no trouble."

"Wales would - "

_There _it was.

"He would have it, wouldn't he? Somewhere safe and secure. Treasured. Perhaps he even keeps it on him to take strength from." Each word was like the sharp prick of a needle, drawing crimson drops of blood. "Your man will die, bereft," she continued with blatantly false sympathy. "But at least you will have your _dignity."_

The words sliced through the air.

"You're cruel," the Princess whispered and Renia couldn't help it. She laughed. The laugh itself surprised her with how light and carefree it sounded. It was if the Princess had simply told an innocent joke. She would not deny it, of course. She knew very well what kind of person she was. A pity it took the child this long to see it.

"And to think," Renia began softly, just to twist the knife. "This is me being _kind."_

In time, the child might see that as well.

The Princess stood suddenly, violently. There was a screech as her chair was shoved back and a loud clattering as it toppled. Neither moved to right it again, leaving it rocking in place where it lay.

"I fear I must take my leave," the child said with a voice that trembled, on the verge of breaking. "If you would excuse me, your Imperial Majesty."

"Of course," Renia said with the same softness and watched the girl quickly turn from her. She did not turn fast enough to hide the first of the tears. Princess Henrietta fled the room, hounded by nothing more than the truth and Renia watched her go. The door slammed and the woman considered, resting her chin in the palm of her left hand. She glanced towards her mirror. The reflection of a beautiful woman in perhaps her late twenties or early thirties with dark hair and red eyes glanced back. She shifted her shoulders and tilted her head. A curling lock of dark hair fell against her cheek as she searched her reflection for signs of age. There were none.

There would never be.

"_Wales, _was it?" Renia asked the silence. She knew that name. _Louise _knew that name, with the bright flash of associative memory that told her it was the name of Princess Henrietta's first cousin, Albion's Crown Prince. "Wales Tudor, heir apparent."

The silence answered with the feeling of a slight weight settling on her shoulder and Renia watched the dark form of a black widow spider skitter down her bare right arm. With an amused little smile, she caught the arachnid before it could scuttle onto the table between her fingers. She held its wriggling form up to the light. She felt it bite.

It became as dark smoke, dissipating into thin air.

She did not need to look to see the dark fire within her crown's ruby smile.


	14. Chapter 14

_**QUEEN Of RUIN**_

* * *

Their next lesson took place in the library.

It was empty of teachers and students, leaving just stately bookshelves lining every wall and branching off each other like a hedge maze of shelves and scrolls. It was dark and dusty and even _smelled _stale. Her footsteps were both loud and quiet. Nothing to hide her approach within the gloom, but she knew how to _step. _Most of the windows high up near the ceiling held only images of a cloudy night sky, save for the back right corner where silver moonlight spilled in as thin, sharp shards. That was where she found the foreign Queen already sitting at a round table with a single lit candle, opened books and scrolls scattered haphazardly around her. As soon as she was close enough, she grabbed one of the books and flipped through a few of the pages. Her eyebrows rose and she flipped all the way to the front cover.

"A Treatise on the Formation and Ecology of Wind Crystals," Longueville read aloud. Wind crystals? She would have thought the woman would have read up on law? Inquisitorial precedent. Codified rights of nobility. _Something. _Anyone who really thought the Church was going to give nobility the power to _ignore _a sacred ritual, they were an idiot. If there was one thing Longueville suspected Renia de Rutenia was _not_, it was an imbecile. She did not seem like a woman content to lay down and accept her fate either. But no, _wind crystals_. "Good read?"

The Queen's head was buried in another book, a giant red leather cover journal with a gold leaf title that glimmered in the candlelight. _Albion: A History._ The woman's red eyes seemed to drink in the light, highlighting them with a molten glow. The golden chain sleeve of rubies gilded her right arm, the shine strangely muted under the silver moonlight.

"Once you get past the insipid structure," the woman drawled. "You're left with the banalities of a man caught up in his own genius."

That sounded a lot like the kind of books she had to read as a child. "Dull?"

"Very."

Longueville snorted as she put the book down and reached for another. A scroll this time proudly boasting the royal crest of Albion at the top. The rest was a scrawling family tree made with dark ink. Wind crystals. Albion. The start of a pattern was emerging.

"Found my tip helpful, I take it," she murmured. The next book she grabbed was...religious theory on Void magic. Curious.

"It was," Renia de Rutenia replied with the slightest twitch at the corner of her lips as she turned the page. "Tell me, what do you know of the Reconquista?"

Longueville cast a disinterested glance over the table. "Anything you want to know in particular?"

"Let's start with what you are allowed to tell me," the woman suggested airily and Longueville forced herself to keep breathing steadily. The woman was still reading, having not even glanced up from the crinkling pages and for a moment, Longueville hoped she hadn't caught the moment of tension. _Allowed? _She was probing for information, perhaps suspecting a concerted effort to keep her ignorant of current events? There wasn't one, not really. Just good ol' Tristainian reticence to admit fault or weakness.

Not that this country was alone in committing that crime.

She shrugged, knowing the woman couldn't see it. "It's less of a rebellion, more of a coup."

"Of course," the Queen breathed with that little triumphant note, her eyes finally raising from the book. "That is a rather important distinction, isn't it?"

"Figure something out?" Longueville asked idly as she grabbed another book. About Germania this time. "Should I be worried?"

"Depends on how much you have at stake in Albion," the Queen said.

_She doesn't know anything, _Longueville reminded herself as that little knot of ice lodged itself in her stomach. She kept her eyes down on the book she held, turning the pages just to be doing something with her hands. Albion had everything that mattered to her.

"I guess it would be a shame if their vineyards didn't make it," Longueville admitted instead. Her father's estate had vineyards. She could easily recall the trellises covered in the broad green leaves of grape vines, and the green grapes themselves dangling in clusters overhead. She supposed they were still there, unless someone burnt them down. "I'm partial to Albion wines."

"Oh?" Renia de Rutenia asked with a questioning eyebrow raised. "Red or white?"

"White," Longueville decided.

"I never had much patience with white wines," the woman replied easily. "Although I must admit, red has not been kind to me lately. Too dry, too sweet, too tart, too poisoned."

It still took her a moment to register the odd one out. "_Too _poisoned?"

Renia de Rutenia made a one armed shrug as if she had said nothing out of the ordinary. "Everything in moderation."

There was a twitch of her right index finger and one of _them _burst from a glittering ruby, more smoke than shadow as it blurred past her. There was a cold breeze, stinging. The library was dark, the shadows moving and closing in until there was just a small circle of - of _unaltered reality_ around the table. She could see it. How the shadows and gloom and even the small motes of dust in the air seemed ever so slightly _unreal _a few paces away.

"What did you _do?_" Longueville didn't realize she had raised her wand until she felt the ache of a white knuckled grip shoot down her wrist.

"Do you mind?" The Queen asked in a mild, unassuming tone. She was no longer reading. Her red eyes flicked from the wand to Longueville's face. The only emotion she could see on the woman's face was curiosity. No concern or fear, as if having a wand pointed at her was an everyday occurrence. "You know, I never thought to ask. Commoners have no need for wands, do they?"

"I'm no noble. Baseborn," Longueville lied smoothly as she slipped her wand back into her sleeve. She could feel the twisted grimacing smile forming on her face as she summoned up a little bitterness from the endless well of spite within her. Just enough to singe. "A _bastard_. I was acknowledged, but that was all."

"I see." Faint amusement replaced the curiosity on the Queen's face - _she knows it was a lie -_ before that too was replaced with what could almost be genuine contrition. "That is unfortunate."

"Is that what you call it?" The heat was still in her voice. "_Unfortunate?"_

Unfortunate was rain when you expected sun. Unfortunate was a missed opportunity. Unfortunate was tripping on a pothole. There was nothing _unfortunate_ about throwing a child away.

"I used to get angry about it, every time I heard the word bastard." The woman said softly as a peace offering. "But my birth status was not something I could change by being angry."

Longueville carelessly tossed her book on Germania back onto the table. "How'd a half-breed bastard end up a Queen?"

"Very carefully," the Queen said with a gentle smile. "But that is a story for another time."

The woman smiled easily, Longueville noted. And everytime her lips curved up, it always seemed to reach her eyes, lighting up her face and softening the off-putting eye color. The mask was _perfect_ and if Longueville hadn't seen her as she truly was in Osmund's office, with the hard, cruel glint in her eye, she would have been fooled.

_You should learn to hide it better._

"Well." The thick red book closed with a loud thump. "Today we will be starting off with something of a...question and answer session. You ask the questions, and I will answer to the best of my ability."

Longueville nodded once to show her understanding, then nodded out towards the rest of the room. "What did you do?"

"Ensured our privacy. To all uninvited guests, the library is empty. They will see nothing. They will hear nothing." The Queen set her red book aside carefully and rolled up some of her scrolls. "If they need a book or scroll I am currently using, they will find a perfect copy right where it should be and if they wander to this table, they will find reasons to be elsewhere."

Was she _serious?_ "Sounds useful."

"It can be," the woman agreed before saying what was already swirling in Longueville's mind. "Elemental magic cannot replicate it."

"Not all of it." Visual and auditory illusions, yes. It was what made wind mages such a pain in the ass to fight, but they always fell apart with any kind of physical interaction. It was an _illusion, _after all. It was the ability to _ward _people away from an area that had caught her interest. "By finding reasons to be elsewhere, do you mean…?"

"They will find another table better suited to their needs, perhaps. They might lose interest in reading by a sudden need to relieve themselves, hunger, or just plain boredom." The Queen raised an eyebrow. "They might question their own decision to break curfew, if they were a student. I tend to leave the details to the demon. This one can be clever, on occasion."

Yesterday, she would have _killed_ for a spell like that.

She still would.

Longueville gingerly took a seat on the table and used her feet to drag over a chair to rest her legs on. "And what will it cost you?"

She had to remember that. It would always cost something.

The woman settled her head in her left hand and extended her right. The creature of dark smoke and shadow slithered onto the table. It playfully nipped at the extended fingers, drawing tiny beads of blood. The woman smiled, wiggling her fingers and almost cooing at it as it lapped up the offering. When it finally vanished back into a blood red ruby, Longueville let out the breath she hadn't been aware she was holding.

"That was it?"

"That was it," the woman confirmed with a slight shrug. "That one adores me, well, as much as any of them can." The confusion must have shown on her face, because the woman elaborated. "They may be spirits, but they can feel and think. They can hold grudges and they can show favoritism. If they feel slighted, expect the cost to rise accordingly. Establishing a...working relationship can make all the difference."

"How -" She made a broad, flailing gesture in the vicinity of her own head. "- intelligent _are_ they, exactly?"

The woman's lips pursed. "I will not lie to you, it varies. Some are no better than dogs, others are our equals. As a general rule of thumb, the more powerful they are, the smarter they are. They may even pretend to be weak to get a better price for their services." Her red eyes rolled. "Expect to be tricked once or twice, Mercy knows I had to learn the hard way." Her head tilted thoughtfully. "Be consistent in punishing that. They learn our habits."

For a reason she couldn't quite name, a small chill went down Longueville's spine. She remembered a dream that was not a dream and its simple, almost innocuous questions. "Our habits?"

The Queen trailed her right hand idly through the air, gesturing at everything and nothing. "What we like, what we hate. When we will compromise, when we won't. What we want. What will _hurt _us. And they _will _use it against you. Руин - " she hesitated. "The king. Руин. It - "

"Is not a friend," Longueville cut in. It had looked the same, in the dream. It sounded the same. It even smiled the same, wearing the same stupid hat hiding the same thing. But its eyes had given it away. She knew her sister. Her eyes would have never been so cold. That didn't stop it from hurting when it slit its own throat. "I know."

The woman eyed her. "The king and - let's call them dukes - have learned the nuances. They are…" The Queen's smile was unreadable. "Sophisticated. Capable of long-term planning and subtle manipulations. They have convictions. A sense of humour." Her voice dropped to a purr. "They can _lust."_

Longueville blinked, fighting the urge to recoil as her skin crawled. She tried not to imagine it. "Ugh, no."

The woman laughed a short, sharp note. "You should consider it. There are worse prices to pay." She made a thoughtful sounding hum then. "Far worse."

"You're not really selling me on this," Longueville observed dryly.

The woman scoffed. "If it bothers you so much, just make someone else pay it, remember? Wring the blood from a servant, sacrifice the flesh of a prisoner, inflict pain on someone that owes you a favor, whatever."

"Right," Longueville drawled. "Simple."

Between one blink of an eye and the next, the softness stripped itself from the Queen's face, leaving something cold, hard and brimming with contempt behind. The air grew heavy as the woman idly raised her right hand and swept an index finger through the air. Longueville's breath caught as an ice cold sting languidly traced itself across her throat. Her hand came up, and came away covered in blood.

_Okay, _she thought. She glanced at the woman and found reptilian red eyes staring back, dark pupils no more than slits and the white of her eyes turned a putrid yellow. Several of the rubies on her arm darkened like ink dropped into a pool of water as the hollows of her cheeks cast sharp shadows. The urge to go for her wand died in the cradle.

"Student," The Queen said evenly. "If you would prefer we skip the pleasantries, I can turn you inside out and sear the information on the inside of your _skull_ instead."

She'd been threatened before. It came with the job. Most threats were just that, threats. Empty bluster made in anger. Not worth paying attention to. Some had that _edge,_ that told her being caught was a bad idea. And when wasn't it? Her current contact could be a right bastard when it suited him, but she _believed_ him when he said she would regret fucking this job up.

She believed the Queen now.

It wasn't a matter of if she would survive. It was a matter of how long.

"I apologize," Longueville forced through her lips and hoped she sounded sincere. "Forgive me?"

For a moment, the pressure closing in on all sides increased before finally fading away. The woman was human again, with a gently amused smile and warm red eyes.

"Of course, I'll forgive you." The woman said pleasantly. "Where were we - ah, debts. Anything that gives you authority over another can be exploited. Leal bonds, family bonds by blood or adoption, master and slave, servant or serf." Her little smile widened. "Teacher and student."

Longueville tensed and the woman laughed.

"The desperate are a more ready source of debtors," she continued. "And children will agree to just about anything. The younger, the easier."

Her mind flashed to that house in the forest, her sister standing in the doorway in silence. No shouting. No yelling or whining. No laughter. Just her sister with that look in her eyes and the yard _empty. _

She felt sick.

Those red eyes searched her for a long moment.

"You still have it, don't you?" The Queen murmured, sounding as if she discovered something unexpected. "That little voice in your head. The one that tells you when someone deserves it and when someone doesn't. Right and wrong. You still _burn _at injustice and you have lines you won't cross, hmm?"

Borrowed. It was borrowed from someone better than her.

"You're going to tell me to get rid of it," Longueville guessed.

Over her dead body.

The Queen clucked her tongue. "Keep it. As long as you can ignore it as needed, I see no harm in having a conscience."

Right.

Longueville bit her sarcastic reply back. "So what do I get out of it?"

"The ability to do whatever you can dream of," came the immediate answer and she hated to admit it, but it was a good one. "The usual vices. Riches, beauty, longevity." The woman tilted her head a little, dissecting her with a look. "Freedom."

"For a price."

"That is all that matters," Renia said. "Power and what you are willing to do for it."

Or sacrifice for it.

"What are the payments? Blood, pain…?"

"Blood. Pain. Flesh. Pleasure." The Queen ticked them off on her fingers. "And freedom in that order."

"Freedom?" Longueville ventured cautiously. "Freedom to do what?"

Her question got her an approving nod. "Whatever they desire. It's measured in people. Haggle," she advised. "You'll learn how to price accordingly and at worst, you don't get what you want."

"And if I renege on a deal?"

The Queen's smile flattened. "I would not recommend that."

Yeah, she figured that would be the case.

"And punishments?"

"_That _is what this is for." The woman held out her right arm, gilded in gold and rubies. The obnoxious display of wealth concealed the ugly, scrawling scars beneath. "An Arcanum has one function: control. The contract only allows the calling of _a_ spirit from Beyond. To get the _same _spirit each time, it's better to bind it." She traced a finger around one of the rubies, following the silvery line of writing. "Once bound, you can tie geas to it. Or anchor it."

"Anchor?"

"We can still die." A corner of her lips pulled up. "They can't, unless mortality is shared with them. Your life is their life and they are jealous with their things."

Longueville felt her eyebrows rise without her input. "Are...you telling me you are functionally immortal?"

The Queen reached for the collar on her dress and pulled it down. Just to the left of the woman's center Longueville saw the edge of the angry red brown puckered scar tissue first before she saw the ruby embedded in the skin. It looked like a sword wound, one dangerously close to the heart if not _through -_ Without a word, Renia de Rutenia pried the jewel from its resting place and held the hole open.

It was a sword wound. Whatever had done it had cleaved straight through flesh and bone, scoring a rib before gouging a hole through the slick red muscle of a still beating heart and severing several tubes. A malevolent burning eye glared out from the dark smoke sealing the wound and shadow like stitches pinched the tubes together.

She was vaguely aware that her mouth was hanging open.

"The wound is cursed to never close. Perhaps one day my vanity will get the better of me and I'll take on a debt to heal it." The woman's lip curled in an expression of disdain as she sealed it back up with the gem. "I would be willing to help you make an Arcanum. It can be a delicate -"

The words leapt out. "Can I anchor someone else?"

The Queen blinked, her eyes wide and guileless. "You would have to ask."

"And pay a price?" Longueville sighed, brushing a lock of green hair behind her ear. "Is there a reason why the prices are so…"

The woman shrugged. "It is what Руин's kingdom feeds on."

"_Feeds?"_

"Oh yes," Renia de Rutenia said softly. "They need us. Sorceresses, I mean. Or sorcerers. We are the door that lets them interact with our world. Without us, they must rely on a naturally occuring confluence of reality, a Haunting, for just a _taste." _She idly straightened books on the table. "There are other kingdoms. Elemental spirits. Animal spirits. Different payments, different rules. I suppose fire is rather straight-forward," she allowed. "As long as you don't care what burns. Met a shaman of the wolf once under a new moon. They were riding his body, enjoying the chase."

"What were they chasing?" Longueville risked asking.

"Something soft and defenseless. Something that could not run very far for very long at all. They enjoyed the chase. They enjoyed the kill even more." The Queen gave her a soft, pitying look. "Are you sure you want to know?"

Longueville closed her eyes.

What would it change, if she knew? If she had the woman say the words. It was a needless - it wouldn't even be a _complication. _It would just be a confirmed suspicion that offered her nothing. Not her doing, not someone she knew. She was no saint. Even if she _was, _she thought with some distaste. There wasn't anything anyone could do about it now.

"It doesn't matter."

She looked out at the darkened library and leaned forward until she was just short of slipping off the table. She passed a hand slowly through the circle surrounding them. She could feel the shadows cling to her skin like spiderwebs, before the darkness pulled back.

Yesterday, she would have killed for a spell like this.

She still would.

"Why did you decide to teach me?"

She didn't look back to see the woman shrug, but she could hear it in her voice. "Why not? I was taught."

"Out of spite," Longueville remembered. And her father out of pride. Руин. She remembered a genial smile and frozen eyes.

"True, but taught nonetheless." The woman shifted in her chair, judging from the rustling of cloth, as well as moving her right arm by the tiny clinking noises the golden chain sleeve made. A moment later, the smell of something burning reached her nose. She wasn't fucking burning the books, was she? Longueville turned incredulous eyes only to see the woman shake her thumb to extinguish a tiny flame, a white roll of burning paper in her mouth. "I am doing this out of the goodness of my heart," the Queen said dryly around the paper and Longueville suppressed a snort. "It makes no difference if you believe me or not. All Руин requires is a deal made of your own free will. It need not be an informed decision."

Longueville frowned before picking up another book. About Gallia this time. "What happens then?"

The woman shrugged and blew out a cloud of smoke that smelled like one of Osmund's pipes. "Up to you. If you want, you can make the initial contract and never call on Руин again."

"It will allow that?"

"Provided you word it properly, it will have no choice." The Queen crossed her legs and laid one arm on her lap. "It _needs _us. We _want _it. That is the balance of power. Use it well, and it can only collect when you die." Her lips curled up at the corners. "_If _you die."

That was the catch, wasn't it? She would be borrowing against her death, or whatever comes after. She already knew she wasn't going to reach Valhalla, if it existed, so she never really thought about it. About after.

"What is going to happen to you?" Longueville asked in a low tone. "If you die."

"Me?" The woman leaned back in her chair, visibly giving the matter some thought. She idly inhaled smoke from her paper roll and exhaled as her gaze drifted. "I'm not sure. I suppose…" Her eyebrows drew together as her expression darkened. "A duke will challenge the king for me." She answered softly. There was a hint of something jagged, something chipped, something _brittle_ in her voice before it became derision. "Руин will allow it, of course."

_The king and - let's call them dukes - have learned the nuances...they can lust._

_They learn our habits. What we hate...what will hurt us. They will use it against you._

_There are worse prices to pay._

It wasn't pity she was feeling. Was there such a thing as second-hand empathy? There were echoes of horror and compassion rattling somewhere in her chest like marbles. She could almost see the expression on her sister's face once she connected the dots. She could almost hear the words. They were muted against the dull grey backdrop of _why should she care? _

She was not her sister.

"Favoritism?" Longueville asked. "You or the duke?"

"Yes." The Queen gave her one of those unreadable smiles as the paper roll between her fingers abruptly burned up, leaving nothing but trails of ash trickling down her hand to blow away on an unfelt breeze. "It will _never_ happen," she asserted. "And if it does, I deserve it for being an idiot."

Longueville raised an eyebrow. "Magic eating poison."

The woman winced. "Extenuating circumstances."

"Of course. Happens to the best of us."

"I would have been fine, eventually."

"I believe you."

The Queen rolled her eyes.

"They still have it, you know," Longueville volunteered. "What they pulled out of you."

"Of course they do," the woman muttered, utterly unsurprised. "I will be destroying it before I leave, so if you want to procure a sample for your employer, you have two days."

_Ah. Shit, _some tired part of her said.

"How long have you known?"

"I would have bet money on a thief or an assassin the moment I met you," Renia de Rutenia admitted gracefully. "The details filled themselves in later. Would I be correct in assuming you didn't exactly choose this assignment?" Longueville let silence answer for her. "And the poison is a secondary objective, target of opportunity? I do wonder what could be worth stealing out from under all these noses." The woman's red eyes searched her. "And why it is taking so long."

Longueville bit her lip. She wanted to insist that it was her business and that she didn't need assistance, but the truth was, she _did. _It had been almost a month and the Vault remained as impenetrable as it had been since she arrived. Lately she had been kicking around the idea of resorting to brute force, but she didn't have a good feeling about it. She didn't know how much force was necessary. The more force she had to apply, the more time it would take. The more time it took, the more chances for some busybody to interfere. And there were more people _to _interfere now. The early arrival of Princess Henrietta's retinue was the _worst _thing that could have happened, but there was nothing she could do about it.

With a negligent flick of her wrist, the Queen's left hand went from empty, to holding out a good sized glimmering ruby. After a moment of hesitation, Longeuville took it. Like before, it was cold to the touch, but quickly warmed to room temperature. The gem seemed to breathe, a faint pulse like a heartbeat pushing at her fingertips. Her skin crawled, the sensation traveling down from her fingers through her arms as if she was trying to get away from herself. She held the gem up to the shards of moonlight spilling in from the windows. The silver light fractured, glittering as a hundred sparkling stars around a shifting shadow within the jewel. As she watched, the shadow split in two, then four, before reforming as a dark shape within the red.

_Whatever you can dream of...for a price._

"So!" The Queen began, sounding absolutely thrilled. "What are we stealing?"

Longueville blinked. "We?"

* * *

"So this _random_ man the Headmaster ran into just _happened_ to have a magical artifact capable of killing a full grown dragon with a single cast?"

"Yes?" Longueville tried with a half hearted shrug. "If you believe the old man."

Renia de Rutenia sighed. "Well, the fact that he chose to seal it away lends some weight to the tale…" They passed a few giggling curfew breakers without getting so much as even a second glance. They could hear nothing, see nothing, feel nothing. She suppressed a shiver as a flailing arm passed through her as if she were no more than a ghost. "...Dragonator?" She heard the woman mumble under her breath. "Dragon's bane?"

This time it was Longueville's turn to sigh. "The name is really bothering you, isn't it?"

"_Yes!" _The woman hissed. "Yes, it is, alright? I'm _sorry_, but 'staff of destruction' is _the most banal -_

"We're here."

"...So we are."

The Vault looked the same as it always had. A large stone door with a pentagram carved into it. It was infuriatingly simple in its design, at first glance. However, with just the slightest bit of mana channeled into it like so…A spidering web of light bloomed into existence under her hand. Within seconds it grew to encompass the entire door, some twenty - twenty five feet in height covered with arcane diagrams made out of glowing white light. Every line was still in place. Immaculate.

"Best I could figure, it needs a key of some kind," Longueville said as the Queen flicked a finger against the stone door. "Well, I was _hoping _it just needs a key."

"Counterspell," Renia murmured thoughtfully. "Same difference really."

The ruby in her hand froze. That split second warning was enough for her not to startle too badly when one of them popped out. It was ugly, squat, squishy and many limbed like a cross between a spider and a slug. It slowly scuttled back and forth on the floor, a single burning eye staring upwards.

The Queen inspected it critically and then took a very deliberate, large step off to the side. "Well? Go on then."

For one terrifying moment, Longueville's mind was blank.

Then gradually, the words came to her.

"The job...is getting me in _that _vault, grabbing a one item and getting out without setting off any alarms, traps, protections, monitors or any triggered security measures in the process." She ran the sentence an additional two times in her head, searching for anything she missed. The spirit sat there for a moment, then shifted its eye to the side to look around her at the door. It didn't have an expression, but she could almost hear the dull 'um…' "Keeping the arcane array intact is not necessary," she offered. "Price?"

Its eye moved back to the center and narrowed.

_Flesh._

In spite of herself, she turned towards the Queen. She didn't know what she expected to find - a clue maybe - but the woman had on a perfect mask of polite curiosity, betraying nothing. Their eyes met and with the glimmer of amusement in her eyes, Renia raised an eyebrow and mouthed 'haggle.' She contemplated asking if she could - maybe - get another spirit, or something, instead, but this felt too much like a final exam where she was expected to sink or swim.

So flesh.

"How much flesh are we talking about?"

The spirit shifted left and right, then extended a spindly arm. It sketched a quick rectangle in the air and Longueville blanched.

"Half that." At _least. _"From where?"

Its eye narrowed further.

_Hip?_

Longueville put a hand on said hip and noted just how close to the skin her bone was. "Thigh," was her counter offer and the spirit moved closer. "_Just _flesh," she said quickly. "No pain, no blood."

It paused.

_Yes._

"Deal."

It lashed out as a blur of shadow and smoke. Longueville hissed as her right leg developed a cold spot, just warm enough not to burn but cold enough to feel tight as she put weight on it. She stretched her leg out to look and hissed again. It had torn through her skirt leaving a ragged hole in both fabric and skin. The wound was an ugly blackened color and shriveled like dried meat. Bordering the black was flushed an irritated red and yellow, like a healing bruise. True to its word. No blood, no pain.

A cracking sound sounded out and she turned in time to watch the arcane array on the vault door shatter like broken glass.

So that was it.

So this was how the woman tempted people into making what she was sure the Church would consider deals with devils. She was not even being remotely subtle about it, and it was _working._

She thought she could laugh. She didn't. Instead, she looked over once more. The spirit was on the Queen's right shoulder, spindly legs hooking onto the fine golden chains of the...Arcanum? Its red eye was roving the ceiling as two claws fastidiously arranged and rearranged the woman's black curls. Longueville tossed her the ruby and the spirit caught it.

"Shall we?" Renia asked.

In answer, Longueville pushed those great doors and they whispered open.

The Vault looked much like a library with a few display items. Most of the items were tomes, grimoires and scrolls still in their casings sorted by some esoteric criteria. Knowing Osmund, probably alphabetical. She drifted over to the display pieces, eyeing the tags. After the first few steps, the hole in her leg was easy to ignore as she dragged a finger through the dust covering some of the names.

"Here it is," she whispered.

"Oh?" The Queen abandoned the book she had picked up. "...This?"

The Staff of Destruction was an ugly clumsy looking thing. It was a hefty cylinder of a dull greenish brown color. It seemed like it could be extended, a slightly smaller cylinder sticking out of one end while the other had a roughly rectangular protrusion slapped on it with odd bits and ends sticking out even further for no purpose she could discern.

"That is not a staff." Renia de Rutenia said, her face scrunched up in confusion. "It's not even _magic."_

Longueville reached out and flicked the tag.

"Staff of Destruction," she read out loud.

The woman made a frustrated noise in her throat. "Not a staff. I do not know _what_ it is but - "

Longueville reached out and picked it up. It had a weight to it that told her hitting someone over the head with it would work just as well. She was careful not to touch any protruding thing. This thing could kill a dragon, the last thing she wanted to do was set it off on accident.

"Does it matter?" She asked as she shifted it around. Under the arm? Too bad this thing didn't come with a strap. She set it on her shoulder. "Not my job to figure it out."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Queen pick up a large blue crystal or gem with a spiraling purple vein.

"Orb of the Archon," the woman murmured with a scoff. "That name tells me he has no idea what this does."

"And you do?" Longueville wondered.

"No," the woman admitted baldly. "But I intend to find out. It tastes _amazing."_

Tastes?

The woman handed the Orb to her pet spirit on her shoulder. Longueville watched in morbid fascination as a seam split the creature in two straight through its eye and a wicked maw twice its size lined with curved needle teeth opened up. It swallowed the Orb whole, for a moment it was distended like a snake digesting a fresh kill, then it became a cloud of dark smoke and shadow. It twisted down her gilded arm in loosely braided streams of darkness, sniffing out its ruby.

Longueville paused just outside the Vault doors and gave the stone a look. "So how do I close - "

The Queen reached out with her off hand and clenched a fist. With a small groan, the doors swung shut leaving the pentagram carving intact once more, as if undisturbed. It would take until someone checked the protections for the ruse would come to light.

Longueville let out a small sigh. Stash the staff, inform contact, deflect suspicion. Priorities. "Your Conceal - " another spell she would have fucking murdered for "- is going to last how long?"

The Queen turned back to her. "Let's say dawn. That should be enough time to hide that thing with none the wiser."

"How do you know I'm not just going to run for it?"

"And give yourself away so easily?" The woman questioned, sounding as if it had never crossed her mind. "You might need Longueville again someday."

How had she put it?

_I would have bet money on a thief or an assassin._

"What were you, before you were a Queen?"

The woman gave her one of those gentle, genuine smiles that she was beginning to realize were built to hide something ugly. It was the moments when she seemed honest with no hidden depths that hid the treacherous currents.

"I was a noble woman's bastard."

Fair.

Her lips quirked at a stray thought. Why not make it two for two?

"Tip for your trip. Cromwell has this woman, who wears a hood. Reminds me of you."

The Queen regarded her thoughtfully. "Thank you."

"Are you going to save them?"

"Yes, I think I will."

The woman closed her red eyes.

"For a _price_."

* * *

_Sepsis caused by gangrenous thigh tissue will set in after eight hours, shock in sixteen._

That would suit her purposes perfectly.

Renia caressed the ruby with her thumb, conveying a sense of gratitude and satisfaction through the threads that bound them together. She could feel the demon reluctantly bask in the attention. It hovered in that awkward band of intelligence between beast and man where it recognized simple manipulations but still fell prey to it.

Well, to be fair, plenty of _people_ occupied that intelligence wavelength.

She returned to her quarters humming the melody to a nameless song. The lesson had gone rather well, she thought. And unless she had grossly misjudged Tristain's medical standards, the final exam was a rather simplistic affair.

Pass or fail.

She reached behind her for the clasp to her dress and let the voluminous material fall to her feet. She unclasped her Arcanum next, biting her lip as the freezing cold metal pulled away from her skin. Her right arm flushed with a feverish heat. Her contract scars pulled and pinched, red and irritated as if they had just healed yesterday.

Blood and flesh.

She placed the golden chain within the dresser drawer, ignoring the golden crown atop it. It wasn't until she glanced in the mirror that she realized the reflection wasn't hers.

"_Руин!"_

She yanked on her night shift in record time and bit her thumb - no anger, no anger - before she turned back to the mirror.

"You are being impatient."

Her mother's image in the glass smiled that woman's wicked little grin. That auburn hair was swept up as it usually was, spilling over in smooth waves. She had her upturned nose and small ears, delicate chin and the high cheekbones Renia inherited. A smattering of freckles dusted the bridge of that nose. Those blue eyes were cold.

Renia had always taken more after her father.

"The eighth clause," it said in her mother's voice. It was a voice built for an airy soprano. "Seven days for minor requests."

"_Min - " Of course_ it would classify healing her of the spores as a minor request. _Stupid._ "Minor. Fine. That still leaves me three days."

It _had _to warn her at three days. Eleventh clause.

"Can you do it?" It asked and for a moment, she thought it almost sounded concerned.

It was a lie.

It had always been a lie.

"I will have to, won't I?" Her mother had turned this into an artform. Recruiting. Whoring. Her earliest memories were filled with days watching the wheat be separated from the chaff, as the woman called it. Blood and bloody sport for her favor. To the victor, the spoils. The fortunate losers were eliminated early. Permanently. Surviving to the end had done no one any favors.

_Sepsis in eight hours, shock in sixteen._

Her arm snapped out on a whim. Her fingers brushed against its form in the mirror, the silk of a midnight blackness and the chill of a winter's breeze numbing her fingertips. It stopped. She could feel its focus as she dropped her hand.

"Do not break her."

"Did I break you?" It asked and her breath caught at the innocently curious tone. As if it did not know. As if it had not been in her mind. As if it had not forced its way into her very soul, right down to the tiny corner filled with moonlight. She could still hear the echoing shriek inside her head as claws greedily reached for the very last sliver of her soul and failed to find purchase. She could hear that moment of silence, still feel the dread, as it realized what she had done.

_CHEAT!_

_CHEAT!_

Her right arm throbbed with phantom pain.

"You will not break her." Renia amended.

"Oh?" It said mildly.

"I know you, Руин." She said, "One of these magi will not be enough. The next debt owed will be paid with one more. And then another. You are _greedy."_

It smiled a corpse's smile, blackened gums of necrotic tissue and stained teeth.

"You will not break this one, and I will consider giving you another toy. You will not break that one and you will retain the _privilege_." She would be condemning herself to never calling on Руин again. It was a price she could live with. It would know that. She could not renegotiate without breaking her contract, but incurring debts was _her_ prerogative. She took a breath and placed a hand on her crown. "And if you try to go around me by ordering it of your toys instead, I will kill them. Do you understand?"

It exploded from the mirror in a shower of razor shards, a pit of _emptiness _behind the glass reached out for her.

It was the work of a moment to press a demon out of reality.

Any demon.

The glass fell to the floor in a song made out of the tinkling shards hitting stone. The back of the mirror was bare wood, a few lingering pieces of glass clinging to the outer edge of the circle. She stared into the dark ruby on her crown. She did not know how long she sat there, waiting for the dark fire to appear.

Eventually, it did and it spoke with its _own_ voice of one thousand screams.

_Agreed._

"Agreed," Renia echoed.

_Anything, _it said as a promise. _For my little girl._


	15. Chapter 15

_**QUEEN OF RUIN**_

* * *

"Your Imperial Majesty?"

"Yes, come in Marie." Renia carefully finished burning the tail of the letter into the wooden sword hilt. A wisp of smoke wafted off the rosewood as she pulled the white hot tip of the silver needle away. She blinked the dryness from her eyes and glanced out the tall windows already knowing what she would find. She had lost track of time. Unfortunate. Nothing for it, she would have to continue after breakfast. Etching a geas capable of holding a demon was not a task she wanted to complete while distracted. She set the roseguard blade on the table in front of her, watching the morning light catch on the polished steel as she sheathed it within its scabbard. It was a pretty thing, almost as pretty as the blade. Dark leather with scrawling green thorny vines and a few falling rose petals.

_Weak? _Her anchor asked as it vanished the silver needle into the gap between.

_No. Worried. _She glanced at her mirror and its flawless glass surface as Marie nudged the door closed with her foot.

_What? _The demon pressed. _Danger?_

If she were to ever allow herself to forget that they shared mortality, its concern would almost be sweet.

_Progenitor. _Renia dryly responded and she felt it recede from the edges of her mind, assuaged. Руин could not kill her. "And how are you this morning?"

"Wonderful!" Marie exclaimed breathlessly as she set the breakfast tray onto the table. Renia laced her fingers underneath her chin as the girl loaded her usual mix of spring fruit, soft bread and cheese onto the wooden platter. "I finally got that letter from Aymard and - oh!" The maid adopted a rueful smile. "Almost forgot, the quartermaster for the guards said your request should be ready this evening?"

She heard the implied question in the girl's voice, wondering what could she possibly need from a simple blacksmith.

"Good," Renia murmured, ignoring the question as she absently selected a strawberry. She carefully bit into it and nearly sighed with simple appreciation. A month ago, it would have been soaked in vodka, glazed with honey and dusted with gold flakes. There were some things she did not miss. "I hope your brother was able to hire that help he needs?"

"Yes!" Marie's smile was radiant as she finished cutting the still warm bread into slices. "And a bit extra for the apothecary. His hand hasn't been bothering him too much, he says, but knowing him it hurts just as bad. He just doesn't want me to worry!" Marie had yet to tell her the story, not in so many words, but she could infer. A bitter, old rage towards the nobility, parents never mentioned, money tight.

_You don't understand. You people never understand. We can't say no._

Her brother's dominant hand was maimed. He worked a farm for his family - a wife and two sons, she remembered - through the pain. She could heal him, she considered half-heartedly. Provided Marie wasn't adopted, a bit of blood could track down her brother wherever Guéret was. He would go to sleep one night and wake up none the wiser.

It would cost her, of course. If she was unlucky, and she usually was, it would be a flesh price. She could force the issue. The one she had in mind was just within that threshold where she could conceivably just _enslave _it.

And risk it turning on her the moment she let her guard down.

"Thank you," Marie said sincerely as she took her seat.

"Whatever for?" Renia asked with a slight smile as she buttered her bread. It was some kind of dense, multigrain loaf she could admit to being a little fond of. Nostalgia, perhaps. It tasted nothing like the white processed wheat breads she had gotten used to. It reminded her of a simpler time. "I haven't done anything."

"Right," Marie said with a conspiratorial smile. "I'm sure I received my month's wages in advance for no reason."

"Advance?" She said with false surprise. "I was under the impression a royal attendant gets paid far more than a simple maid. I would not be surprised if the Headmaster agreed."

Funded by yours truly. A nest egg for the girl had already been prepared along with instructions for dispensation. It was not truly necessary, but sometimes that little extra was what separated an appreciative asset from a loyal one.

It was only money.

Marie's smile grew as she picked out an apricot from the tray and murmured, "I'm sure that is all it was." She poured some tea from the kettle into the two cups and broke her strawberry scone in half.

It was about that time.

"Unfortunately, that does remind me." Renia ventured. "Have you heard anything regarding our mutual friend's estate?" At Marie's blank look, she rolled her own eyes. "Count Mott."

"Oh." The girl's face fell. She nibbled at her scone before finally shaking her head. "Not much. Charlotte - one of the girls - her man's a guard and there was some talk about investigating a noble's murder, but I…" Marie's shoulders slumped a little before she helplessly shrugged them. "That's all I was able to overhear. It could have been anyone..."

It seemed little Marie was feeling rather isolated, wasn't she? Her posture spoke of marginalizing, perhaps even ostracized completely from her old companions. Yes, jealousy would do that. She remembered being around women their age. She never treated any of the other girls poorly, that would have been counterproductive. She wanted them to covet her attention. Instead, she indulged only one of them. Made the girl dresses and even went so far as to gift her with a necklace. She relied on Marie for _everything._

Marie was _special, _you see?

Idly, she wondered if even Siesta talked to her anymore.

Renia hummed and tapped a finger on the table. "Do you know where this guard is stationed?"

"Here," Marie said and then her eyes widened. "_Here_," she breathed. "The Capital has its own barracks, there would be no need to involve the Academy unless the murder was close...or the _murderer._"

"Is that what you think it was?" Renia mildly challenged. "Murder?"

"I - " The girl hesitated and looked down. The strawberry scone crumbled between her fingers. Silence drifted between them as a tangible, palpable feeling. She knew Marie. However, there was always the risk of that human element she had yet to isolate. That random nature of the tiny flaws in the gem, of the small cracks in the metal that meant one broke instead of bending.

"It wasn't justice," Marie said eventually, quietly.

"It was not." Renia agreed.

Marie tried to smile. It was a sickly, half-formed thing that shriveled and died mere seconds later. "I didn't tell Aymard," she whispered, unshed tears beginning to glimmer in her eyes. "I used to tell him everything."

Renia leaned forward so as to seem earnest even as she frowned sympathetically. "It was not something he needed to know."

"I know," Marie replied. She dropped the remains of her scone onto her platter with the air of someone that had just lost their appetite. "He never would have - he would have figured something out."

Would he, really?

In another time, another place, perhaps she would be able to break her of that fallacious belief in a better person. There was no such thing. Only a person with different weaknesses, different vices, different breaking points.

"Does that matter?" Renia asked instead. "You are not your brother."

"No," Marie said miserably. "He wanted justice."

Marie wanted vengeance.

"You did _nothing wrong_," Renia asserted. "You did not have control over the magic, you merely gave it a voice." A fig leaf. It was true, after a fashion. A request was fulfilled, down to the letter. The intent never mattered. "And that voice chose to rescue your friend. The world is short one Count Mott. Can you truly say we are poorer for it?"

The girl shook her head roughly. "It's not about him! It's -"

"About the guards that served his whims? The servants who looked the other way? Those that would have gladly served another master like him just as _well?_" Renia pursed her lips. "Fine. What lesser punishment did they deserve?"

"I don't - I don't know," Marie nearly pleaded, her face scrunching up with the effort of avoiding tears.

"Jail, perhaps?" Renia mused out loud. "Under what charges, I couldn't even begin to guess. Perhaps you could have taken their dominant hands, or maimed them." The girl flinched. "No? Then perhaps blacklist them somehow, so that they could never find employment again? How you would manage that I don't - Ah, a curse perhaps, so that they felt _every_ horror the victims of their inaction felt for the rest of their _miserable_ lives." Marie watched her with wide, watery blue eyes. Renia softened her voice to a near whisper. "Is that what they deserved?"

"No," Marie answered, just as softly.

"What else is left?" Renia trailed the fingers of her left hand along the edge of the table, disguising the subtle movements of her right. She could feel the necklace.

_Influence._

"That guilt will poison you, if you let it," she said as if it was an irrefutable fact. As far as she was concerned, it was. She'd seen it many times before. "Do you think vengeance is wrong?"

"Isn't it?" The girl asked helplessly. "I didn't want to make it right! I just wanted to hurt them!"

"_Remember_ why you wanted to hurt them," Renia said sharply and Marie reeled back under the command. "Remember _why_ you wanted to hurt them. Remember why you wanted them to _hurt."_

"...They hurt people."

"Remember who you wanted vengeance for. Are those you hurt worth _more_ than them?"

"No! No, of course not - "

Renia smiled thinly. "You do not feel guilty about hurting them, do you? You feel guilty for _not feeling guilty."_

Marie froze.

Silence fell upon them again, but this time it thrummed with tension. Renia took a sip of her cooling tea and broke the quiet with the tiny clinking of porcelain as she set the cup down. She ate her portion of bacon and picked out another strawberry.

"Is that it?" Marie murmured, her eyes shuttering closed. "I feel guilty that I…"

"You would destroy yourself over the shadow of a feeling?" Renia asked quietly, searching for it. "Marie, you are guilty of nothing more than being human. The magic was not yours. You need to let it go."

"I can't," the girl said in a small voice.

And even softer, so soft it was barely more than air through her lips, Renia whispered, "Why?"

The girl didn't answer.

Renia sighed, disappointed. She let the heat of the necklace slip through her fingers. Too soon. "I am rather fond of you, you know."

That drew out a small, weak smile, but it was there.

"It changes nothing. What's done is done." With a twirl of her finger, Marie's tea was set to steaming once more. "Eat. And tell me about that book you finished. How was it?"

It took no small amount of effort on her part, but she managed to direct the girl onto other topics and open up once more. The kind of literature the girl read was atrocious and pretending to care about it was annoying, but thankfully it was the type of insipid drivel that was simple to summarize. They talked about her brother's farm and her nephews. The man's wife came up infrequently, it seemed Marie was cool in her regard of the woman. She had yet to see Longueville. They wandered through whatever thought came to mind.

"The sword is for _you, _isn't it?" Marie said, a bit awed. "You were trained? Did you join the army?"

Renia smiled reflexively even as something inside her writhed. She bit into another strawberry, savoring the tart sweetness on her tongue. Her gaze wandered, drifting to the tall windows and the morning sun. She imagined stained glass depicting the Visions of Mercy and Justice, surrounded by the saints with their halos and winged horses. She was sure that if she tried, she could still feel the weight of the Oculum. Still hear the Dedications, the tolling of the bells, the clanging of metal in the yard. She was sure that if she _tried, _she could remember that foolish, naive innocence.

And so, she would not try.

Her mind skittered around the edges of those episodic memories just as she trained herself to. It flinched away from it, aborting trains of thought that came too close to what still _bled. _

It was safer to bury what hurt around Руин.

Deep.

Weakness was death.

She was tempted to spout a pithy lie. Something fantastical, maybe. Perhaps in her role as Empress she negotiated with a warrior queen of another nation, and was gifted lessons and a blade to commemorate the occasion. Or perhaps she had been kidnapped, stranded behind enemy lines before being rescued in a tale of daring do and so resolved to never be that helpless again. Maybe pirates had been her kidnappers, no, an ancient order of assassins! Marie would eat it up, she knew. Rutenia was a land of wonders in her eyes. The lie would come easy and it would be easily believed.

Oh, but had she not learned that the best lies were made from the truth?

"I was squire to a - ah," she paused when the word from her stolen memories did not come. "You do not have a word for it. A sworn knight of the Church? Dedicated to God? Crusader is close but not quite." She waved a dismissive hand before taking a sip of tea. "Whatever. Father Kolsav of St. Vodker's Monastery, he was my teacher and - " She paused to draw attention to the past tense and worried at her lip for a moment. "A dear friend."

Her prison warden.

She supposed it said something that the first thing she remembered when she thought of him was his broken body on the cathedral's stone steps. The second thing she recalled was the sound of his voice. It had been made of iron and dusty, as if he gargled sand with his breakfast. She remembered how he often spoke ponderously, with well considered words aimed to _cut._

_Is your mother who you want to be?_

Her tea cup shattered in her hands, dumping hot water directly into her lap. They both jumped up at the same time, Marie with a loud "Oh!"

Renia raised her hands. "It's fine, it's fine! I have it."

And she did. She pressed one of her remaining weak demons into service, bidding it to sweep up the hot water and shards of porcelain. She reformed the cup into an exact mirror of Marie's unbroken one and dispersed the water into the air as herbal smelling vapor. A second demon plucked the ceramic shards from the stinging wounds on her palms and coaxed the skin to seal.

"There. That should do it," Renia sighed and flexed her fingers. Adequate.

"Yes," Marie said slowly, naked envy on her face as she picked up the repaired cup, turning it over in her hands. Envy and…

Guilt.

And buried underneath, a _longing _despite it.

It seemed she had made an error. Perhaps it hadn't been too soon after all, she had just failed to find the right lever. That was alright. It could still be rectified. She had two days. The missed opportunity still burned her. It would bother her for months, if she let it. Compared to the usual quality of her agents, Marie was too uneducated, skilled in nothing, had no useful connections and no talents at all. Руин was uninterested in her. She was no one.

She was perfect.

"I'm sorry," Marie said quickly. "I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

Renia found herself sighing yet again as she retook her seat. "Don't trouble yourself, it's fine."

"It _clearly_ isn't," Marie replied with a borderline _insolent_ tone. "You _hurt_ yourself, that doesn't happen if you're _fine." _Renia blinked, momentarily taken aback and Marie _blanched. _For a moment, she seemed on the verge of throwing herself on the ground to apologize, but then she set her jaw mulishly.

"That doesn't happen if you're fine," she repeated. And then tentatively, "You said I could always say no to you."

Renia took a moment to simply breathe.

"I did," she allowed. She did not feel that shifting cold beneath her skin, so she knew that at most, her pupils had changed. She took another deep breath. Then another. She pinched the bridge of her nose.

She was _fine._

"They died." She stated flatly behind the shadow of her hand. Her voice barely held through the next word. "Everyone."

Her hand dropped as she let out a shaky exhale. She glanced towards the windows and the sun streaming in from the bright blue sky.

She heard bells.

"A Haunting, I was told," she murmured. "A natural, magical disaster. I was lucky to be alive."

There had been nothing natural about it.

Her mother had given her a ruby. A request had been fulfilled, to the letter. Intent never mattered.

The woman had known very well that there could have only been one outcome.

"Breakfast is done, I think." Renia said, standing, suddenly full of nervous energy. She picked up the roseguard blade and glanced over the half finished geas surrounding the ruby rose pommel. The sunlight caught on the red petals, flinging pink shards of light around the room. It really was lovely, wasn't it?

She waited out the urge to grind it to dust.

"Do clean up, will you Marie?"

"Of course," the maid said. "What does the schedule look like today?"

"Rather empty. I have lunch with La Vallière, but that is all." She doubted Henrietta would pay her a visit. "I think I shall take a walk around the grounds, perhaps. I do not require company, the day is yours."

"If - if you need me for anything - "

Renia's lips quirked.

_Anything?_

"I will call on you," she promised. She crossed the room to stand before the tall windows that graced her eastern wall. She scanned the landscape before her as Marie cleared the table. A bit of a walk to the treeline, but nothing too strenuous. And a bit further to make absolutely sure she was undisturbed. That copse of trees at the base of the hill looked to be a good spot. She had a few hours before the sun reached its zenith. Perhaps a trip to the library?

"I'm sorry," Marie blurted out from behind her.

"Forgiven already," Renia carelessly tossed over her shoulder. "Think no more of it."

Think _no more_ of it.

As the door closed, she traced a finger around the base of the sword's pommel. The burned etching intertwined with the vine markings scraped against the callus of her fingertip. It called for blood, the geas. Pain. _Flesh, _yes. That as well. It took no small amount of effort to slave a demon to one's soul. She would know. This would mark one hundred and one.

The flowing Rus script would fade into the wood when completed.

Only the brand would remain.

_You chose this! _Her mother's voice echoed.

Yes, she thought in reply. The energy had left her, leaving her feeling tired and worn as she idly counted the trees and cradled the roseguard blade to her breast.

She chose this.


	16. Chapter 16

_**QUEEN OF RUIN**_

* * *

Longueville had woken up that morning feeling like absolute dogshit.

Her head pounded away, blood rushing in her ears, as a bone deep, painful chill dug into her shins. She was drenched in sweat. Her breaths came out rapid and shallow as if she had just come from running about the grounds... Nightmare? She wondered. She gingerly sat up, cradling her head in both hands. Overnight, someone had stuffed cotton in her mouth, sat on her chest, and chopped off her right leg - with some effort, she wiggled her toes. Both sets. Good, leg still there. After the momentary panic faded, she frowned. She had no idea why she had thought her leg was gone.

Because a spirit took a bite out of it last night, she remembered.

Perhaps it _had _been a nightmare.

She swung her legs out from underneath the covers. The wound was there, just as she remembered. It was still blackened, the skin directly around it was pale and mottled while her thigh in general looked reddened as if she spent too long in the sun.

And it _smelled!_

That was probably a bad sign.

Someone knocked on her door. She hesitated a moment. Her room was small and out of the way as befitting the station she told them she had, not one that saw room service or anything privileged. It had a basic dresser, table with chairs and that was all. She took her meals in the kitchen, and never gave anyone reason to seek her out. She glanced about the room all the same, making sure everything was in place. The last thing she needed was for anyone to find anything incriminating anywhere.

Nothing.

She then wrapped her bed sheet around her as a makeshift robe with a hood. She wasn't exactly ashamed of her sleep wear, but if it was Osmund... She shuffled to the door.

"Yes?" She rasped as she opened it. The girl on the other side, young and vaguely pretty like all of them were, blanched.

"Are you alright?"

"Do I _look _alright?" Longueville answered snappishly and the girl shook her head. She thought about just forcing herself through it, but she honestly did not have the patience to deal with any bullshit today. "The Headmaster is going to have to do his own work today. Please let him know." She thought about mentioning the fucking mouse, but decided against it. The girl nodded then half-turned, hesitating. "What now?"

Timidly, the girl volunteered, "Should I send for Professor Durand?"

Not until she thought up a good lie about how she got the wound on her leg, and why she didn't go to him immediately with it. She could ask him to treat the symptoms, forget the cause. That was about all she could do, _ask. _The man wasn't stupid. He'd figure it out.

"If it gets any worse, I'll go to him myself," Longueville waved off even as a horrid thought came to her. What if it couldn't be healed? She assumed it could have been, magically if not conventionally, but what if she was wrong?

She hurriedly closed the door. What if she was wrong?

She should have asked, damn it!

She should have asked about a lot of things. Did it need flesh for her request, could pain or blood have worked instead. Did allowing it to take flesh mean it could do _more _than it could with just blood? Could she have asked a more powerful spirit to do the same task for a lower price? Why hadn't she _asked?_

Her head thumped on the door, still recalling that moment when the Queen had stepped aside and her mind went blank.

She had panicked.

She bit her lip and went back to the bed. Her leg still felt like dead weight, but just as promised, there was still no pain. She thought she might have preferred the pain. She was ashamed to admit it, but after getting back to her room she had been high on the glow of finally succeeding. She forgot about it. Then she dismissed it. And now it was biting her in the ass.

She laid on her back and stared up at the ceiling. It was made of the same grey stone and wooden rafters as other ceilings in the Academy. She counted the blocks.

Right, think of a good lie.

Think of a good lie.

Think of a good…

Think.

She drifted off to sleep.

* * *

She jerked awake to the sound of someone pounding at the door and was instantly aware of all the ways she felt even worse than before. How long had she been asleep? Damn. She struggled to sit up, wrapped up in her bed sheets as the door opened a crack and Renia de Rutenia stuck her head in.

"Do you mind?" The woman asked softly. Her red eyes swept the room, and then her, cooly analyzing. "If I may, you do not seem well _at all_." She ducked out of sight for a moment, her voice murmuring something before she reappeared carrying a tray laden with food. "You missed breakfast and lunch," she said as she closed the door behind her with a foot. "I took it upon myself to see that you ate something."

Longueville did not feel very hungry, but she knew letting herself starve wasn't going to help anybody, least of all herself.

"Thank you," she ventured, watching the woman cut a slice of bread to go with what smelled like chicken soup. She carefully stood, and shuffled over to the table in the center of the small room. It was a wooden slab with four legs, more or less. A rather tattered light blue fabric masquerading as tablecloth sat on it. Nothing like the polished dark wood with inlaid silver covered with silken white lace the Queen had in her room. The woman didn't seem to notice the difference. She expected a turned up nose at the stains. She expected hesitation at lowering herself to parceling out food for someone lower than her on the ladder, but defying expectations was something the Queen of Rutenia was good at.

Longueville ran a finger over the coarse material and suppressed the smirk. If her father could see her now, he would have had a screaming conniption fit. She didn't even know why the thought was funny. She stopped thinking anything of her father a long time ago.

"Chicken?" She murmured. She dunked her bread into the broth and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. It was so very inoffensively chicken, but there was a hint of sweetness to it and a savory fullness she did not expect from common fare. Did she order this personally? Was the woman _doting _on her? "It's good."

"It should be," the Queen muttered. Longueville smothered a smile as she studied the foreign woman.

Renia de Rutenia looked the same as she always did, dark hair tamed into ringlets and wearing a dress of a strange fashion just close enough to normal to seem off-putting. The patterns were too neat, the seams and hems too even and the material too fine. It didn't look real. The gold of her - Arcanum, she called it - glimmered in the weak sunlight filtering through the fabric over Longueville's windows. She had helped herself to a cup of tea, taking small sips. In spite of the late night they both had, she didn't look tired. She didn't look like anything. There was no hint of the cosmetics some women used to hide defects. She was just perfect like a doll, as if the little wears and tears of living failed to touch her.

"We're not friends," Longueville eventually pointed out.

"But we are somewhat friendly," the Queen said in response, a little smile tugging at her lips. "Are we not?"

She supposed that was true. "Teacher?"

"Student," the woman acknowledged. "Would you like to hear how you did?"

Longueville felt the wry smile take over her face. She shifted, and nodded down towards her leg. "I feel like I fucked up."

"Yes," the woman said without fanfare. "But likely not where you thought you did." She set her cup down. "Your leg, may I?" Longueville sucked in a breath, and carefully peeled the layers off. Exposed to the open air, the wound was still ugly. Renia de Rutenia inspected it. "Yes, I was afraid of that." And before Longueville could react, she leaned forward and pressed her thumb into it. She was struck with a sudden boiling _agony, _sweeping like fire from her leg. She nearly fell out of her chair jerking away from the pressing digit. Just as quickly as it had appeared, the pain faded.

The woman's eyes gleamed with a strange satisfaction. "No blood, and a weak cantrip to prevent you from feeling that pain. What went through your mind, when you made that condition?"

Longueville couldn't breathe for a few moments. That familiar heat boiled in her gut. Alright. She was going to _assume _that was necessary.

"Blood and pain are also prices," she gritted out. The pain was gone, but her head throbbed in the aftermath. The bread sat heavily in her stomach, making her feel ill. "Three for the price of one didn't seem…"

"Fair?" Renia de Rutenia finished for her. Her eyes rolled up towards the ceiling. "Fair…" she repeated in a softer voice. "I will be blunt. The prices we pay for their services will _never_ be fair. The best we can hope for is _manageable._" She took a lingering sip of her tea. "Blood, you can get away with refusing blood. Even they know we don't function well when they take too much. But pain?" Her eyes closed. "Pain. _Pain is part of the process."_ She opened her eyes. "Did I not tell you that?"

She had.

"So...what?" Longueville asked, exasperated. "I'm supposed to just let them have it?"

"_Yes." _The Queen's lips pursed. "It is how they judge sincerity near as I can tell, that you _feel _it." Her head tilted to the side, her red eyes flicked back and forth. "What...would you think about someone that offered a deal and the trinkets they put up for collateral were expensive for you, but a pittance for them?"

"_I have a hole in my leg," _Longueville hissed.

"We grow flesh back." Renia de Rutenia countered. "We replenish blood. We cannot 'un-feel' pain. If you did not feel as you do now, if you woke up this morning no worse than you were yesterday, saw that physician of the Academy and was healed of the wound, what did you really _pay?"_

Longueville's mind rebelled against that kind of logic. The skin, the fat, the muscle was _gone. _There was a _cost _there. What did it matter, if it hurt or not?

_You over promised, _she remembered Renia de Rutenia lecturing in Osmund's office to a pink haired girl. _And spirits do not value things such as we do. Items precious to them are as their __**life.**_ _Promises made are as their __**blood**__. Alliances bargained for make you __**kin**__. Betrayal makes you a __**kinslayer**__. To break your word, even such as described, you would have torn their heart out and thrown it away. It matters not how or why._

Because the point wasn't the cost, she realized. It was the _bargain._

"Is that it then?" She wondered out loud. "The payments. We have to suffer for them."

"Or have another suffer for us." The Queen confirmed. "They are thinking, feeling beings and they are _malicious." _The woman smiled a small, sad smile. "Don't forget that."

"Let it hurt?"

"There are worse prices to pay," the woman said with shadowed eyes. "_Let it hurt_."

_How much have you suffered, _Longueville wondered idly. Then she realized that was perhaps the wrong question. _How much more will you suffer? Did it matter?_

There was only power, and what she would do for it.

Longueville nibbled on the hard, sharp cheese that came with her meal. It tasted like iron. "Is it worth it?"

"What do you wish power for?" Renia de Rutenia asked solemnly. "Who do you wish it for?"

_Tiffania._

It brought to mind her sister's fragile smile.

Yes, she supposed it just might be worth it. She sighed and looked to the side, towards her windows. The ugly pale yellow drapes did a poor job of holding back the sun's rays. Without them, the view wasn't anything special either, just the dirt road winding through the Academy's north entrance. Her stomach was still roiling uneasily and her head felt empty. Looking at those drapes did nothing to ground her.

She felt like she was on the edge of a cliff, a step from falling.

"You caught me off guard, you know," Longueville said eventually, searching for something to grab on to. "Stepping to the side like you did."

"That was intentional, yes," the woman admitted. "The clever ones can...piggyback onto our souls, peek into our reality and extend their influence." She made a vague, waving gesture. "They will move things. Make noises. Appear before you wearing a face."

"Just to be annoying?"

The woman lifted a finger from her cup and twirled it in a circle. "More or less. Some rather enjoy getting to torment us for free."

Lovely.

"If they could always catch you off guard, unsettle you? Making the deal is better for them."

"Could I have asked for another? Spirit, I mean."

The Queen blinked, then frowned. "Of course, you could have. I was actually rather curious why you didn't, it would have been the first thing I did."

Longueville groaned, throwing her head back. "Thought it was part of the test," she mumbled. The woman snorted and she held up a finger. "Don't say it. I know." It _had_ been part of the test, just, not the way she thought. "Damn it. How badly did that fuck me?"

She winced as soon as she swore in front of a foreign queen, but the woman didn't even bat an eyelash. Did she swear in front of her before? She felt like she had. She couldn't remember. Without that golden crown on her head, there was something about Renia de Rutenia that tempted one to let their guard down.

She'd made that mistake before.

"The one I had in mind could have probably figured out that counterspell to open the doors, in exchange for a little pain."

Longueville sucked in air through her teeth. Subtlety over brute force, right. As soon as the sun went down today, the old man would check the wards on the Vault and find out he'd been robbed. If she could have pulled it off without anyone being the wiser until someone did inventory?

She shrugged a shoulder and ran fingers through her messy mop of hair.

Well, too late now.

Perhaps she could get away with being too sick to be the thief?

"But the actual wording of your request? That was rather well done," the woman continued with a little pride in her voice. "I do not think I could have done any better."

There was some subtle tension that lifted upon hearing that. Validation, perhaps? Some part of her worried that there was some pitfall, some hidden trap in the Vault that she hadn't thought of, but no one came for her. Just the Queen.

"Your wording is good enough that, well," the woman glanced down at the table, and nudged the bowl of soup closer. Longueville obligingly grabbed at the spoon. "You might consider a fluid contract as opposed to a solid one."

"Verbal versus written?"

"Just so. Set a few ground rules and boundaries." The Queen's lips turned upwards with wry amusement. "I personally like 'don't kill me, even by accident,' but to each their own."

"Not dying would be great," Longueville said and the woman's expression flickered. Her red eyes cast down into her tea cup as if it whispered secrets, brows furrowed as her smile slowly faded.

"It would be," Renia de Rutenia murmured. "Wouldn't it?"

The bite of bread stuck in Longueville's throat as a ball of ice. Swallowing it hurt all the way down.

There was no pity in those red eyes. No sympathy. Last night, the woman had been impeccable. Humour at the right times, sadness at others. She had been so completely and undeniably human that Longueville felt as if she had been set adrift. A mask underneath a mask. Was this what lay at the heart of it? There was nothing but a cool, impersonal acknowledgement in the Queen's eyes that caused Longueville's own denial to wither.

"I'm dying, aren't I?"

"...you are suffering from a severe case of blood poisoning," the woman said clinically and Longueville felt as if her heart would just up and give out right then and there. _Blood poisoning. _"High fever, rapid breathing, discoloration of the skin, fatigue or sleepiness," Renia de Rutenia listed, ticking them off on her fingers.

Longueville knew what blood poisoning was. It was when a wound went bad, infected by noxious vapors spreading like poison. The only way to deal with it was amputation. She looked down at her leg, and felt the world tilt to the side.

"How long do I have?" She interrupted whatever the Queen had been saying.

The woman paused, then nodded. "I would give you tomorrow, at most."

One more day.

That word 'tomorrow' hung in the air. Longueville once thought that knowing when she was about to die would change something. That she would reminisce on the past, or have a change of heart about everything. Maybe she would find her faith? She sat there at a crude table with a tattered tablecloth in a small, ugly room and felt nothing but a blank gray.

There wouldn't be enough time to go home.

She could send a letter? Her fingers drummed on the side of her bowl of soup. She had no idea what to write, but she could try. She owed that much, she thought. Thinking about how her sister would receive it made her stomach clench, so she stopped thinking about it. There was nothing she could do.

Longueville considered, her drumming fingers stilling.

Almost nothing.

"Tell me," she began slowly. "The mistakes I made with the test." Renia de Rutenia raised a curious eyebrow, leaning forward in her seat. Longueville smiled tightly. "Was one of them trusting _you?_"

The Queen's answering smile showed teeth.

"And so you've learned the final lesson." She caught the triumphant gleam that flashed in the woman's red eyes. "The real threat is never the _demon._"

The sun streaming through the faded yellow drapes darkened, as if hidden by a cloud. And yet, the red rubies of the woman's Arcanum shimmered brightly, lit with an inner, pale red light. There was a shadow within each one.

"Demon," Longueville repeated as she sat there in a fascinated fugue. Not spirit, demon. She wished she could say she was surprised. She wished she could say the parts of her that had screamed through the Haunting hadn't expected it. She wished she could say that she didn't look into the woman's blood red eyes and _fear _what her father was. Blood. Pain. You had to _suffer_ the prices and they appeared as dark smoke and shadow.

No, she wasn't surprised at all.

What else? What else did the foreign queen say that was just to the left of the truth?

_Everything?_

"Why lie, when the truth serves just as well?" The Queen said as if she had said that out loud. Had she? "Demons are spirits, of a sort. I _did _wish to see you taught - "

She snarled. "_Lies_ by omission - "

"Are you any less guilty than I, _Longueville?" _The woman said sharply. She looked away then, worrying at her lip. "I did what I had to."

"But why teach _me?"_

"If not you, it would be someone else," the woman said. "Another mage who understood what it meant to have power and what it meant to _crave it." _

"Louise," Longueville tried.

"Craves power, does not understand what it means to have it."

"Your servant girl." Damn it, what was her name? Why was it so hard to remember?

"Not a mage," the woman lilted with an amused slant to her smile.

Longueville cast about for another option.

"Henrietta?" The woman tilted her head back, eyes flicking away and said nothing. Longueville gaped. "_Henrietta?"_

If not her, then it would have been the next ruler of Tristain sitting in this chair, offered the chance to surrender or die_._

She could laugh.

She didn't.

"You should feel honored," Renia de Rutenia said with a laugh in her voice. She grinned, large and wide. "I chose you."

And Longueville looked at her.

The woman looked the same as she always did. Curling dark hair tamed into ringlets fell about her face, contrasting her porcelain skin. There were no wrinkles, crow's feet or laugh lines. No signs of exhaustion, anxiety or stress. It was as if she was a doll. Perfect. The wears and tears of living passed her by, leaving her in that ageless range between twenty five and forever.

The woman smiled easily. They were masks, each flawlessly built to hide something ugly. This smile was no different. It was open, honest and unburdened, like the rest of them, save for one difference.

It didn't reach her eyes.

Something in the back of her mind yelled in alarm.

Longueville tried to think back and replay their conversation in her head, searching for every time the woman smiled. It was hard to remember. It was hard to think. Her head continued to throb over the dull roar of blood rushing in her ears. Start from the beginning. The beginning. The Queen had knocked on the door, waking her -

Waking her?

Longueville swallowed as she glanced about her small room. Everything was just as she remembered it. The table, the drapes, the crude dresser in the corner and the lumpy bed. The view outside the windows would be the same dirt road through the Academy gates. The only indication anything was even wrong was a woman with cold, red eyes.

It was enough.

"Do you ever take your own face?" Longueville said mildly. "Руин."

The demon in the guise of a woman deliberately refilled its teacup, and with a twirl of its finger set the liquid to steaming. It scooped in a teaspoon of sugar and stirred. The dim sun outside darkened further, into a deep, bloody red. The strange light cast strange shadows that twisted. Longueville clenched fists in her lap, and carefully didn't look into them for too long.

"Look at _you_," the demon mused with the queen's voice. "Half-dead, but can still pay attention."

Longueville smiled thinly. "I am a thief."

It barked out a laugh, red eyes alight with an inner fire. "You remind me of my daughter," it said, wearing its daughter's face. "Irreverent and clever." It took a sip of its tea and savored it, eyes fluttering closed. It hummed. "Monique," it said eventually. "For a clever girl. My subjects will know you by that name, allow them to know your true one at your own risk."

Longueville raised an eyebrow. "Why warn me?"

"And watch you destroy yourself out of _ignorance?" _It asked with a matching raised eyebrow and a cruel smirk. "Why, that would take no time at all. You think I haven't seen enough of that? _Boring." _

"The very soul of compassion," Longueville quipped.

"Aren't I just?" Руин laughed. "No, ask your questions, Monique. Receive truthful answers. Walk into this with your eyes _wide open."_

With her eyes wide open, huh?

Longueville stared down into her bowl. The chicken broth had long since congealed, shredded meat and mushy vegetables crowding the bottom. "Is that why you taught your daughter? To destroy her?"

"Concerned?" It asked, sounding honestly curious.

"Maybe," she said truthfully. However it answered, it would give her some insight to its plans for her. Something she could use.

She didn't want to die.

There was only one way this could end.

"The very soul of compassion," it stated dryly.

"I do try." She settled her throbbing head in her hands. "Well?"

Its red eyes gained a far off look within them, as if it was seeing something or someone else.

"I was there when she was born," it murmured. "A pitiful, broken thing. Legs fused together, one arm too many and one eye too few. And dead, of course."

Longueville rocked back in her chair. Renia de Rutenia was a doll, perfect. "Stillbirth?"

It hummed an affirmative. "I fixed the body, reshaped the flesh and formed the bones. I anchored her soul. I _made _her. She's _mine." _An odd little smile played around its mouth. "I want for her what every father wants for their children. Only the best. I want to see how far she will rise."

Longueville studied the demon. The red light cast sharp shadows on the woman's face, turning perfect into eerie. Renia de Rutenia had been born dead. Her name meant born again, hadn't the woman said? Because she hadn't been born right the first time. The contract scars beneath the gold chain sleeve had begun to bleed, rivulets of red streaming down its right arm. "What happens at the end?" Longueville questioned softly. "When she's risen as far as she can go? When she's reached the top?"

"What else?" The demon said.

Its grin split the woman's face in two.

"_She falls."_


	17. Chapter 17

_**QUEEN OF RUIN**_

* * *

"I decided on a completely different approach!" Louise declared as she sat down at the table, clutching a few papers to her chest. "I cannot seem to grasp the principles of _bad faith." _If that sounded somewhat contradictory, that was because it is. The girl was too honest and straightforward for it to come easily. "So I will - "She puffed out cheeks red with embarrassment at admitting her failings, but her pink eyes were determined. "I will play to my lack."

"Play to your lack," Renia repeated with slightly raised eyebrows as she laced her fingers underneath her chin. Tradition and etiquette dictated she sit at the head of the table, but she had never thought much of such things. They sat side by side, like equals almost. The girl would never forget their status, but it did soften the distance. "Really, Louise, it was not as if you weren't improving. You rarely made the same mistake twice."

The girl shook her head roughly. "You've been holding my hand through this entire process! That cannot continue."

Renia felt her lips twitch into a small frown as she studied Louise's resolute expression. That mulish set of her jaw and furrowed brow. The way she clung tight to her parchment as if it were a shield. There had been only glimpses before, disguised as pride. It was a good disguise, for the girl _was _prideful. A shallow, but stubborn pride. Now she saw it, as plainly as it had been in the mirror.

Renia turned to the maidservant currently pouring her a glass of a sweet smelling white wine. "We can handle the rest from here, Evette, thank you."

The blonde maid smiled and curtseyed, even as her eyes darted along the table, searching for anything out of place. Lunch today was actually _deer, _she could hardly believe it. Her first thought wondered what was the occasion, as it was typically exorbitantly expensive. The last time she had venison, her poisoning, had been Solstice. Her second thought was remembering that this Church hadn't brought the Curse on themselves.

"If there is anything wrong with the course - "

"Marteau has yet to disappoint me." She gave the girl a gentle smile. "If it tastes as good as it smells, I will have no complaints."

Louise bobbed her head in automatic agreement. It hadn't taken more than a lunch or two for the girl to catch on to Renia's habit of actually interacting with the help. She doubted the girl fully understood _why _she did so. There was only so much 'good manners' could explain.

"We are a little busy," Evette admitted with a weak smile. "The rest of the Princess's retinue has arrived, and preparations for the contest are beginning." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Louise flinch at the mention of a contest. Her papers crinkled in her grip. "But of course, you will remain a priority! It's just…" The young woman made a face and fidgeted.

"Extra hands would be appreciated?" Renia asked. Now, were they reluctant to press Marie into service, or did the girl already refuse? The maid nodded and Renia bent her head in a show of acquiescence. "You have my permission to make use of Marie and if she complains, send her to me."

The maid sunk into another curtsy before taking the empty serving table with her. Once the door closed, Renia turned back to Louise. She considered her approach. She could ignore it. Change nothing. She could play it off as a casual observation. She could seem indignant, even angry on the girl's behalf. She could be stern. She could even be cruel. Sometimes lessons must sting to sink in.

What would have reached me? Renia wondered.

What indeed.

"I will not ask who, if anyone, told you receiving help was worthy of censure." Renia murmured. She reached out a hand, setting a light touch on the girl's shoulder. "You are _no burden,_ Louise."

Louise's lips formed a small, bitter smile. "My attendance here hangs on a thread. Were it not for you, I'd have been sent home already. A failure. Even now, _this - _" She set her papers down on the table, fastidiously smoothing the wrinkles. "This is my last chance to be _anything. _And it still has to be borrowed!" She laughed to herself, a short and sharp note. "How could I be anything else, but a burden?"

_Now?_ Renia wondered. Her eyes drifted to the dresser where her golden crown lay. The large ruby on the front glimmered in the afternoon sunlight, but there was no inner fire. It was dormant. Her tongue never burned in the girl's presence.

Perhaps Руин had truly lost interest after that first day, when twenty six demons were lost. Perhaps it had already done its own investigation and found that there was no threat. Perhaps she was grasping at straws. How many times did hope have to burn before she learned?

At least once more.

"Louise," Renia ventured softly, holding out her bare left hand. "May I show you something?"

"Oh, of - of course." Her small hand settled on Renia's palm.

Renia arranged their hands carefully, interlocking their fingers in an uneven pattern. Her mother did this for her once, saying that a soul as weak as hers needed as much help as it could get. A lie, of course. The woman always lied.

She once did it for another, her apprentice. And once again, she was lied to. "I told you once, that we shared affinities, didn't I?"

Louise's pink eyes darted up, surprised. "Yes, I had wondered." She pursed her lips. "Wind, wasn't it? I - I tried but…"

"No," Renia said with a small smile. "Not wind."

_Open._

Her Arcanum burned cold. Her right arm quickly numbed, until it was as if her scars had disappeared. As if her skin had melted away. Until there was only the pulse of blood and cold bone. Louise started in her chair and Renia tightened her grip. "What happens, when a commoner holds a wand?"

"Nothing!" The girl said quickly. "But - "

"Forget the rest," Renia ordered. "You can feel it, when you hold a wand, can't you? A...movement? Like a stream?"

"I -" Her eyes darted around helplessly. "Warmth?"

"Warmth, that's good." Renia kept the slight smile on her face until Louise began to calm. She gently squeezed their fingers. "I want you to recall that feeling, can you do that for me?" The girl looked up at her and nodded. She settled in her chair, closing her eyes as her brow furrowed. "Think of the first day you held your wand, what was the weather like?"

It took a moment before Louise's expression lightened. "It was raining."

"Rain," Renia whispered.

_What's it like, having magic, Mother?_

_A sigh._

_A glance towards the staff, gilded gold with a glittering blue gem._

_Go on._

_Eager, grasping, little fingers, something like hope. She imagines the wildness of fire. The strength of the earth. The rush of water. The freedom of air. She imagines acceptance. She imagines. And it's…_

_It's…_

_It's heavy. Nothing else._

_The woman's smile is knowing. _

_It's like having a finger on the pulse of the world, she says. Can't feel it, can you?_

_It's heavy._

_Nothing else._

"What was your first spell?" Renia asked.

And Louise's expression crumpled in on itself. "Fireball."

"Fire," she repeated. "Let's start with something small, a candle."

"Imagine the flames, the heat, how it burns." Louise opened her eyes in a huff. "I know how this goes. It won't work. I can't - I can't do it."

Renia gently squeezed her fingers once again. "Trust me?"

For a long moment, Louise's pink eyes searched her. They were searching for mockery, Renia knew. They were searching for that tell tale sign that this was all a hoax meant to get her hopes up, only for them to tumble down again. Renia met those eyes evenly. Then they slowly drifted back down to their intertwined hands. The girl's eyes closed again. "A candle."

"Yes, a small one. An orange flame is burning on top, flickering back and forth. It's warm, isn't it?"

She could see it in her own mind's eye. A red candle on top of a lacquered cherry wood desk, ever burning. The flames were mostly orange, a reddish tinge outlining the teardrop shape. A hint of blue at the bottom where it burned on the wick.

This would hurt.

_Reflect._

It struck her like a gong. An echoing, rumbling feedback that grabbed at her skeleton and _pulled. _She had been prepared, so nothing more than a gasp escaped her as Louise shot out of her chair with a yell. Their hands ripped apart as the air stunk of a bitter, acrid smoke. The flame continued to float for a moment on their fingers, before sputtering, then dying.

"_What?_" Louise blurted out, hand outstretched in front of her as if it was a live snake. "What was - How did - " She scrambled at her side for her wand. Renia knew the moment she found it, by the smell that permeated the air. The girl held it up disbelievingly.

Moving slowly, Renia stood and gently took the stick from her. She set it on the table. "You don't need this."

Louise goggled. "_How?"_

"Cantrips," Renia explained. "A direct expression of the soul."

She held up her left hand, and with a thought, a small flame flickered to life on the tip of her index finger. It was like any other flame. It would burn, if she let it.

It was not magic.

It was a flaw.

Louise practically flew back to her chair, knocking the rest of her papers onto the floor. Renia picked them up with a breeze of wind, setting them in an empty spot on the table.

"The soul?" The girl ventured. "I thought...well, the strength of the soul determines Willpower," she recited Renia's own words back to her. "As each person is unique, so is the composition of their immortal soul. It's why a dot spell may cost one line mage more or less than another line mage."

The truth, if a step to the left.

"Correct," Renia nodded as she retook her seat. "However, the soul is far more than just our capacity for magic. Rather, it is our capacity for reality itself." She buried the urge to look around for, or create, a blackboard. She would have to rely on her words. "Magic is…" She hummed, searching for the words. "Where does magic come from?"

"From God," was the prompt, predictable response.

"And where is God?"

"In Valhalla?"

"Which is where?"

"In...the sky?"

Renia raised both eyebrows. "Is _that _what you're taught?" Well, she supposed putting your God out of reach of pointy sticks and sharp bits of metal could only be a good idea, in the end. Mercy knows the bowels of the earth hadn't been far enough for magic. "Never mind, I will assume that is a difference between our Churches where there is no right or wrong answer."

"Where else…?" Louise wondered aloud.

"Beyond," Renia said. "Are...you truly unaware of other worlds? Of realities that lay beside our own?"

"_Worlds?" _Louise repeated. "Realities? You are kidding."

And yet the elves certainly know. It was difficult to be ignorant of such, when you rely on spirits. She had suspected something when none of the books and scrolls she had read made mention of anything even remotely similar to the Paths but she had hoped…

It didn't matter.

She had already known Tristain was a useless, backwater nation.

Louise read her silence and began to shake her head slowly in disbelief. "Worlds…"

"Some like ours," Renia confirmed. "Some very different. My mother would tell me tales of the one she visited with my father, where the sky was always red with a silver sun and a blue moon…" She tore herself away from the memory, of a rare time when not all lessons were meant to hurt. "The realities that lay beside our own are the homes of spirits."

"So…" Louise began slowly. "The spirit of Lac D'Orient…?"

"Is not native to this reality, no." Renia gave a little shrug of her shoulders. "I wonder how long it has been here? If it even remembers home? Probably, they do not easily forget."

"And.._.your_ spirits?"

Renia nodded once.

Louise blinked slowly, then rubbed at her eyes. "It is almost too much to believe."

"But believe, you must. I will not leave you ignorant." Not any more than she had to. "The one thing these other worlds have in common is magic. Think of it as a great river, flowing from the source, split into many creeks and streams."

Perhaps it would be more accurate to liken it to a circulatory system, beating heart and all.

"But what _is_ magic, but the potential to alter reality?"

"It's a responsibility," Louise chided her. "It's a complex system with rules that must be followed."

"Yes, rules," Renia murmured. "Tell me, what makes a square spell, a square spell?"

"The number of elements that went into its creation," Louise answered promptly with her legs crossed and back straight in a prim, proper posture. "Whether it be four different elements, all of one or any other combination."

"So the creation and animation of bronze golems, like that one boy, is…?"

"Dot," Louise said firmly.

"He must create that bronze from somewhere, don't you think? Unless there is just that much in the ground around here."

Louise's brows furrowed. "I suppose."

"And of course, creating gold is a different story. Can you imagine if his golems were golden instead?"

The girl scoffed. "_Guiche? _A square?"

"Why not?" Renia asked mildly.

"But - wha?" Louise sputtered. "He's a _dot. _There is no way he could make gold. Even a square mage would have trouble making enough for one golem."

"Why is making gold harder than making bronze?" Renia leaned back in her chair, flicking a finger. "Or iron? Why does it require more of the elements? Does it not come from the earth, as copper and stone do?"

Louise opened her mouth, and then closed it with a thoughtful sound. "There are theories about the thaumaturgical composition of gold. Its usefulness in ritual preparations, energy transference, or -" She made a face. "Making someone a better mage."

Renia thought of a gaudy, over decorated golden sword and snorted. "And how well has that theory held up through the years?"

"Poorly," Louise admitted. "It has its uses, but there are often cheaper alternatives. Crystals are superior for holding energy, silver is more purifying and a gold sword-wand is a waste of money." She then eyed her, or rather, her right arm. "But _you_ use gold…"

Of course she did.

Gold was blood.

"Would you believe it's to make me a better mage?" Renia lightly teased and was rewarded with Louise's pink locks flying as she rapidly shook her head. Renia allowed a light laugh to escape her, even as her fingers pressed the ruby on her palm into the skin until it hurt. Of course not. The Queen of Rutenia a subpar mage? Perish the thought. "Physically speaking, there is no discernable difference between making bronze and making gold. Save that one is bronze and one is.." She shrugged. "Well, gold."

"But - there must be a difference!" Louise insisted.

"Why?"

The girl sputtered.

"It is as you said, magic is a complex system with rules that must be followed. Arbitrary, byzantine laws." The corner of her lips pulled up. "So why follow them?"

"That's impossible," Louise stated flatly.

With an easy, practiced movement, Renia unclasped her Arcanum and slipped it from her arm. She held it out to the side, and let it fall to the floor in a tinkling clang of gold and rubies on stone.

"As impossible as not using a focus?"

Her anchor stirred within the ruby embedded over her heart. It nipped at her, a cold ache pounding in her chest, but the nugget of gold it made gleamed between her fingers. She placed the gold onto the table. Louise stared at it for a long moment. Then she woodenly reached over and picked it up. She pressed fingernails into the nugget and stared at the crescent indents.

"A common soul, a _weak _soul, can do no more than exist. _You _are far from common."

The girl looked at the ground. "What did you do earlier, with the fire?"

"Showed your soul the way."

Renia tapped the table.

"Perhaps we should try wind next - ah, no, your affinity first." She corrected herself. "Hand out - like that, yes. Now, do you remember how that felt?"

Louise took a deep breath. "Like something opened."

"Concentrate on that memory, try to bring it back. Just like with the wand and the fire, you need to _feel _it." Louise closed her eyes. Her breathing evened out. "You are nowhere. Time does not matter. You are adrift, floating. Reach for it."

There were some false starts, of course. Louise was on her own, searching for that crack. Their food cooled. Their tea became tepid, flavored water. The sun shifted an inch or two in the sky.

The air turned _caustic._

Renia gagged at the almost overpowering stench burning her nostrils. Her skin crawled at the sensation of a thousand tiny barbs skittering just underneath the first layer of flesh. There was a strange heat almost physically repelling her, as if the girl had become a bonfire. To get close was to burn.

"Found it," Louise breathed out.

"You did," Renia said.

There, in the palm of her hand, a golden light glittered. It bled white in the center, while the edges darkened to a tarnished, rust color. Louise's pink eyes opened, and the gold was reflected within her pupils.

She inspected the light, breathing lightly. "What is it?"

Renia extended her own hand. A similar light burned in her own palm. It was a pale facsimile, created with air. It lacked the radiance in comparison, she could tell. The subtle shadows that floated within the white center. It lacked the _power._

What was it that lay in the heart of this child's soul?

"This is the Void."

Louise lost her concentration. The gold in her eyes guttered out as the light faded. The almost painful _pressure _went with it. "_Void? _But there has never been - "

"A mage of the Void in over five thousand years." Renia finished for her. She scoffed, crushing her illusion. "So I've read in your library." Really, it wasn't _that _hard to figure out. She knew dogma could keep one from seeing the truth dangling before one's nose, but it had been a few years since she last saw such an egregious example. "Shall we pretend it isn't, then? What do you prefer, a fire affinity?"

"Like you pretend yours is wind?" The girl shot back. Then she blinked, and seeming to realize what she said her eyes grew wide. "_You're a Void mage!?"_

Renia paused. Faking being a Void mage would be a challenge, considering no one knew what a Void mage _did. _And if anyone was going to call foul, it would be the Church which was a complication she _did not need. _Well, she could hardly claim she was mistaken about their shared affinities _now. _

What a neat little corner she had backed herself into.

"I had my reasons for discretion," she said instead. "We pretend then. Between this and Lac D'Orient, you won't need my patronage to stay at the Academy. You will have something to show."

Louise looked towards her wand, laying on the table. She picked it up and turned it over in her hands. "Something to show…" She looked up at her through pink eyelashes. "Do you think - if you told them that you were a Void mage, that the Church wouldn't…?"

"Brand me?" Renia grimaced. And let a Void mage slip through their fingers, called to them from across the continent in a sign of divine providence? "Perhaps." Louise's abandoned papers fluttered over to them. "You mentioned a different approach to the contract?"

Louise scooted her chair a little closer to the table. Renia twirled a finger, reheating the dishes of their lunch. The scent of sauteed onions and caramelized venison gently wiped the stinging remains of the girl's magic away. Renia sipped her wine thoughtfully. It wasn't bad, but she did so miss her reds. She found the first page of Louise's proposal and skimmed through it as she nibbled. Then she read it again. She swallowed hard.

" - I simply cannot think of all the variables in play," Louise was saying. "It does rely on the assumption that an agreement for _no lies _was feasible, but if I can guarantee the truth then some of the burden is relieved."

"You just ask them," Renia whispered. "Where the flaws are."

How long had it taken her to think of this?

Too late.

Far too late.

"Yes!" The girl's face lit up. "That way I could get the spirit itself to identify the loopholes it could exploit, and maybe even suggest better wording? Lies by omission is countered by requesting _all _the flaws and premature agreement is settled by requiring it to be repeated three times before it is enforced." Louise looked up at her hopefully. "Will it work?"

Louise really was a bright child.

Renia allowed the papers to fall from her fingers. She reached over and settled a gentle hand on the top of the girl's head and tried to hide the pain in her smile. "If I had your foresight when I was your age, I would not have these scars."

She could see the question in those eyes, but Renia simply smiled.

"It will work. It will work." She leaned over, and planted a soft kiss on the child's forehead. "You are an intelligent, beautiful girl, Louise," Renia murmured. "Do not let anyone tell you otherwise."

The back of her neck prickled with the sensation of being watched. She turned her head, and saw a glint of gold. She bit her tongue, until she tasted blood.

How many times did hope have to burn her, before she learned there was no way out?

Just this once more.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"I don't know what I expected," Louise lamented, kicking her legs back and forth. "He was polite, of course. Attentive. But - "

"Awkward?" Renia ventured.

"I didn't know what to say!" The girl nearly wailed. "He's Captain of the Griffin Knights! And I'm - urgh." She slumped in her seat. "We can't pet griffins forever. Right." She straightened up again. "I need to figure this out."

"Perhaps you could use his visits when you were younger as a common ground?" Renia shrugged, resting her head in her hands. "I would not recommend asking him why they stopped, mind you. Let him volunteer that."

It might even be the truth.

"Might he also not escort you to the lake?"

Louise started, eyebrows raising. "That's right! I can - " Then she deflated, falling back against the cushions. "I can't ask the Captain of the Griffin Knights to go on an _errand."_

"You would be asking your future husband to help you with something important to you," Renia corrected her. "Even the Captain of the Griffin Knights has to find the time to be Jean-Jacques Francis, after all."

"What if he can't?" Louise chewed on her lip. "What if he won't?"

"Then you know he's an idiot _before _the wedding."

Louise's lips twitched upwards as she shook her head. She stared at her tea cup on the low table in front of her. Talking to Louise was not like talking with Marie. The older girl was naturally chatty, the type Renia normally despised, and flicked from one topic to the next like a hummingbird. An Empress could not be a wallflower, and so she was not unused to leading conversations. She simply disliked how much of herself she would inevitably put on display.

"It wouldn't be remiss to set some ground rules early could it?" Renia mused out loud. "The first time I met Eadred after our formal betrothal, I asked if he smoked." Louise's head perked up. "He did, and so I requested that he dig out his favorite pipe."

"To make him feel comfortable?" Louise ventured.

"To see what it smelt like." Renia tossed her head, flipping some of her hair back over her shoulder. "If I hated it, he was either going to have to quit or the wedding was off."

The girl's cheeks puffed.

"What?" Renia rolled her eyes. "I was going to have to _live_ with the man!"

Louise lost the struggle with a quiet giggle. "Did you really threaten not to marry him? I couldn't - I couldn't do that."

Renia arched an eyebrow. "Are you, or are you not a de La Valliere?"

Louise ducked her head, but she smiled. "I am."

"There you have it." Renia leaned back on the couch, throwing an arm over the back as she crossed her legs. "Luckily for me, Eadred had good taste."

She still remembered the dumbfounded look on his face when she had sat up, pointed at the cigar case and demanded one. She still had the silver cigar case, engraved with imperial insignia. It had made the trip to Halkeginia with her, along with her pocket watch. She didn't know why she kept it.

"How much is your happiness worth, Louise?" Renia tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling, absently counting the stone. "What will you do for it?"

"I don't know…" A contemplative kind of silence rested between them. "I don't want him to marry a Zero."

Renia dropped her eyes and hummed. "And I was a failure. A nobody of a girl that would have been lucky to marry a landed knight, never mind a lord. It was what I had been told my entire life, but I refused to believe it." Louise fixed intense pink orbs on her. "Imperial brides are chosen by contest, graded by a panel of judges and paraded before the Emperor like prize horses. There must have been over fifty contestants. Better connected, better educated, family trees that were beyond reproach. Pret - well." Renia's gaze flickered away, then back as she smirked. "Perhaps not prettier. But by God, I was _going_ to win it."

Lord Maximillian had shown her the official letter from the Crown, asking for her hand. It still took a few days for it to sink in, that she had actually won. She knew she would. No other woman there had the personal honor of saving Eadred's fool head during the rebellion, but some small part of her had still doubted.

Even after her marriage, there were times when she had to remind herself of her success, half-convinced it was a dream.

_I did it, I did it. I'm queen, I'm queen._

"It's not enough to want it. It's not enough to desire it. It's not enough to think it would be nice to have." She studied for years. Made friends with people she hated. Killed people she liked. Stained her hands, again and again. Made mistakes. So many mistakes. But if she was given the chance, she would do it again.

Edmund was worth it.

_He poisoned you,_ a dark whisper emerged from the back of her mind.

Yes.

He did.

"Rule of Steel," Louise murmured to herself and she could hear the capital letters. Whatever it meant, it seemed to do the trick straightening the girl's spine. Idly, Renia wondered who Louise was pretending to be, when she wanted to be stronger.

"What do you _need, _Louise?"

The girl thought about it, and Renia knew the moment she had her answer when those pink eyes hardened.

"Respect."

Renia gave a small laugh. The girl was still young. "Wrong."

Louise sputtered again. "But - "

Renia silenced her with a look. _I see you, child, _she thought. Respect born of fear lasts until people are no longer afraid. Respect born of admiration lasts until people become jealous. Respect from others was a given thing, and as such, it could always be taken away. Louise didn't need _respect._

She needed to know what she was worth.

Louise swallowed hard and her mouth opened, but nothing came out. Her pink eyes pleaded.

And Renia held out a hand. A small flame flickered in her palm.

Louise's face lit up, extending her own. It still took over a minute, but a small dancing tongue of fire flared to life between the girl's palms. The way she stared at it, you would think she hadn't expected it to work again.

The soul would not forget.

"Perhaps a story, hm?" Renia said, crushing her flame. "About an Emperor and the troubles he had with his nobles. Everard the Unifier was his name. Before he came along, Rutenia had been a collection of city-states ruled by princes, boyars and magistrates for thousands of years. Now, after seven bloody years, they were all one nation. Everard called his first Council of Lords to session to prepare for a prosperous future." Renia's lips quirked up in a wry smile. "They promptly began to squabble like children."

Louise snorted, clutching her flame to her chest as if warding it from an errant wind.

"Nothing was accomplished that first day, not the next. They would make no progress for the next three months. They had spent thousands of years fighting, out maneuvering, backstabbing and snubbing each other. Seven years and an Emperor was not enough."

"What did he do? To get them to listen?"

"What could he do? They _were _listening. This prince thought the funding proposal was unfair, because that other Great House did not have to pay as much. This magistrate was hoping some of the proposed laws could be relaxed, because it took away some privileges the nobility enjoyed. This boyar wanted a full rework of the taxes. This prince didn't want to sell the Crown land. It went on and _on." _Renia hesitated a moment, and then took a chance and kicked off her shoes. She was never much for etiquette anyway. "And all the while were the _marriage offers. _Everyone wanted to see their sister, their daughter and in some cases their mother be Empress."

Louise nodded sagely. "It's understandable, isn't it?"

"But imagine how Everard felt. All he wanted was for his new nation to _work, _but everyone else wanted him married first. Each and every one promised to support his agenda. After the wedding."

The girl made a face.

"And then one day, Everard had enough. The prince of Elkrotzy had the dubious honor of being the next to extend an offer. He brought his sister and her ladies in waiting, hoping for a match. The woman was very beautiful and her brother ruled one of the largest provinces in the new kingdom. The new Emperor would surely be a fool to refuse." She paused the tale, raising a questioning eyebrow. "It would be in his best interest to accept, wouldn't it?"

"Mayyyybe?" Louise leaned forward in her seat. "Her brother sounds like he would be a good ally to have and it would be a sign of stability, if the Emperor was married. And he can't marry twice…"

"But?" Renia prodded her.

"But!" Louise held up a finger. "He would be allied with Elkrotzy, which means he also inherits its rivals. The marriages he declined before might seem like slights. It might make things worse? He would go from everyone currying his favor to even making enemies."

Renia nodded approvingly. It would do. "And it meant that the Emperor had a _price. _He could be bought with the right offer."

Louise made a face again.

"And so Everard _jumped_ up - " She made a bouncing motion with her hand and inwardly swore. Louise was not five. "From the table, pointed at the Lady of Elkrotzy's ladies-in-waiting and told them to form a line."

Louise's mouth dropped into a small 'o', knowing what was coming.

"Confused, the girls did so. The Emperor walked before them, asking their names, their house and the occupation of their fathers. Not a single one was from a Great House, but lesser nobility and even a few merchant lords. He stopped before one girl, and learned that her father was nothing more than a provincial judge. The Emperor smiled. 'Is he fair?' Of course, the girl was quick to defend her father, even to the Emperor's face. And Everard laughed and kissed her on the cheek. 'We marry in three months,' he said and that was that."

"What was her name?" Louise asked, eyes bright.

"The First Empress Lada of Rutenia." Renia smiled wistfully. "By all accounts their marriage was, if not happy, then content. You can imagine who was not pleased, however."

"The Great Houses."

"Just so. By the time Everard's son Eldson was old enough to marry, they were still a thorn in his side. So the Emperor sent invitations to the boy's birthday to every minor noble house, even a near extinct one who's only claimant was a bastard."

Louise gasped.

"But not a single Great House was invited to attend. To make matters worse, Eldson followed in his father's footsteps and courted a girl he met at the party. The daughter of a destitute knightly house became the next Empress."

The pink haired girl made a thinking noise. "And it has been that way ever since?"

Renia shrugged. "Everard's grandson married traditionally to a princess. Their reign, and marriage, was an utter disaster." She laughed, shaking her head. "_His _son rebelled and married a merchant lord's sister_. Then _it became tradition."

That tradition was no guarantee the matches were happy ones, but by the time it mattered, it was too late.

"But do you see what Everard meant to do, Ed - "

And her voice caught in her throat.

Louise shrunk in on herself. Her little flame guttered out. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Renia whispered, passing a hand over her face. "All you wanted... was a familiar."

"Do I…" Louise ventured cautiously. "Remind you of him?"

She wanted to scoff. Of course not. They were nothing alike. Edmund was his father's son, with pride that wasn't false or shallow. He was decisive, compassionate, but stern. He didn't need her to hold his hand. She peeked through her fingers with a sigh and saw Louise's pink eyes staring up at her through long eyelashes.

_No school, mama._

_Oh? And why not?_

_...I talk funny._

Edmund was his father's son, but he had been hers too.

"Perhaps a little." She said eventually.


	18. Chapter 18

_**QUEEN OF RUIN**_

* * *

**Дед; Grandfather**

She carefully burned the last letter into the wooden hilt of her sword. As she drew the white hot silver needle away, she let a sigh escape her. Done. She went over the Rus script with a discerning eye, turning the hilt over and over in her hands, searching for flaws. There were none. Perfect. She closed her eyes for a moment, and let the tension drain from her temples and shoulders. It would do. She reversed her grip on the needle, flattened and sharpened the other end, and drew the improvised blade across her palm. It wasn't a particularly deep cut, but the sting of it was enough to prime the geas. It drank the offered blood greedily, staining each letter red.

Standing, she vanished the needle to the space in between and grasped the hilt. In a smooth motion, she drew the sword. It really was a beautiful piece, a thin fuller ran down the center of the elegant thin blade. Near the hilt, there was a diamond shaped taper into the tang. It had a circular cross guard, silver braids twisting around themselves as vines, and the dark wood hilt topped by a ruby rose pommel.

_That sword is for you, isn't it? Were you trained?_

She was.

She dropped into a wide legged stance, feeling her center of gravity shift as she held the sword before her in a guarding position. The dress made it feel awkward, but her limbs knew what to do. Almost without conscious thought, she found herself going through the forms, moving from one stance to another. Her eyes fluttered closed as the sword danced in her hands. She could almost hear the sounds of the yard around her, clanging metal, grunts of exertion and pain, and above it all the tolling of the bells.

A memory tugged at her, and she let herself be pulled in.

In her mind's eye, someone stepped forward. Nicholas? Dimitri? Shadows obscured their face, but she recognized something in that cocky salute.

_Learn to block, you poxy piece of shit!_

She angled the blade to catch the swing. She could feel the tremor of the impact run through her arms. She could hear the rasp of steel on steel. She could smell it now, stinking of sweat and boiled leather.

_Fix that footwork! Balance! Balance!_

_Balance, _she thought, shifting her right heel as she swung. Don't overextend. Move. Duck. The edge of the blade is not your only weapon.

_Eyes, not hands! Watch the eyes!_

_I know. I know. _She spun away from a vicious slash, and deflected another. Her arms shook with each strike. Move. Move. She fell behind, barely catching the swings. Too fast. Too fast. She leaned her head back, and felt the sting of the cut across her cheek. First blood. She relaxed, disappointed in herself. The shadows hiding the face of her sparring partner lifted. It _was _Nicholas, she saw. His forest green eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned.

_Form up spawn! Who said you could take a break? Again!_

His smile fell as he glanced towards the silhouette of their instructor, then back to her, an apology in those eyes. She brought the blade up and Nicholas moved. And he was...slower. Or was she faster?

With a negligent flick of her wrist, she deflected his sword and it nearly tore free from his hand. She was stronger, but there was no satisfaction in it. Just a yawning emptiness. His green eyes widened. His mouth was moving, but she couldn't hear what he was saying. He struck again. Her arm moved and his blade shattered. She blinked. Her arm moved again. She watched his throat open. A flicker of something at the corner of her vision. A giddy, excited whisper.

_Again!_

The shadows caught his body as it fell. When they parted once more, there was a corpse on the floor. It had lifeless blue eyes and a face she didn't recognize.

_Renia!_

She turned, and suddenly it was Dallin before her sword, flashing red eyes as his cursed black blade bit through the air, an ugly snarl on his lips.

_I have no choice! _

_There's always a choice!_

Her heart was frozen in her chest. She moved like she was trapped in molasses, the cloying stench of blood clogging her nostrils - _I should have killed you when I had the chance!_ \- watching her erstwhile apprentice lunge forward, twisting around the shadows that bit and snarled. Blue light spilled from that amulet underneath his collar, casting his features in sharp, eerie relief. He looked like his grandfather, Eadred.

_Hypocrite!_

_Murderer!_

He was a whirlwind, the black blur of his sword flashed in her vision. Her heart pounded to the rhythm of the deadly dance. Left - left - up - right! No! Blood in her eyes, stinging, burning. Keep up. Keep up! Every impact jarred her skeleton - _too strong! _Back - back! Her heel hit the dais, stonework of the altar dug into the small of her back. He stepped into the next strike, deflecting Wallow's edge with his left hand covered in the steel links of his Arcanum. She scrambled for that spot of light in the darkness, feeling the world turn and she knew it was too late.

She was over extended. Off balance.

She was going to die.

She cried out, stumbling backwards, sword clattering to the ground from nerveless hands. She caught herself before she could fall. Her hand was over her heart, feeling the warm pulse of blood seep through her fingers. She looked, but the blue of her dress was pristine. The scar was warm to the touch, almost feverish. The thin exit wound on her back ached. She was back in her quarters at the Tristain Academy of Magic, a stranger in her own skin, struggling to breathe. Her anchor stirred.

_Danger?_

Not real. Not real. It wasn't real. She sank to the floor, feeling the cool stone press against her exposed skin. Her sword was where she dropped it, polished steel flashing in the sunlight. Blood rushed in her ears. She palmed her face with her right hand, feeling gold chain and the sharp facets of the ruby in her hand dig into her skin.

"I can't," Renia whispered. "Not like this."

She needed…

She needed a drink.

She forced herself to get up and fished out the wine bottle from where it laid in a bucket of cool water by the table, flicking the droplets onto the stone floor. She filled her glass and reclined on the couch, absently swirling her white wine as her heart calmed. He wasn't here. No one was here. She was alone. She didn't taste the first sip, nor the second. She looked out the window, straight into the sun. It burned.

She heard bells.

Eventually. Finally, those silver tones faded away.

She moved to get up - _to go where? Maxwell? Eadred? Dead and gone _\- before sitting back down again. Maxwell. That was where she would have gone. He would have let her sit in his office, sipping at a brandy or vodka while he worked. Her eyes flickered about her room, imagining tortoiseshell drawers and red marble columns. A back wall entirely covered in leather bound books and a large fireplace he kept burning all year long. The centerpiece of the room was a large, clockwork orrery, ticking away with all the precision of a timepiece. A massive globe of their world capped in white at the poles, raised ridges of mountain ranges and rippling oceans lapping against the coastlines. Their moon a silver ball orbiting at an angle. The five known planets of their solar system spun at differing speeds. Perun's orange ball crossing paths with Veles' smaller, ringed orb. Sometimes he would be there instead of at his desk, ducking underneath the radiant sun as it swung by, a glass of something strong in his hand.

_Try the wine. Verduns may not know how to speak worth a damn, but they do know their wines. Excellent vintage this year._

_It was a shame what happened to him. I am sorry._

She swirled the wine in her glass. She took a languid sip. It was a sweet wine. The pale yellow liquid tasted faintly of peaches and caramel with a light alcohol content providing a hint of bitterness. It was not as subtle as her vodka, and her red wines were typically more tart and dry, but the change of pace was not exactly unwelcome. She took another sip, rolling it around on her tongue before swallowing. It was a bit thin, but easy to drink. The smoky caramel made this vintage, she decided and she felt the corner of her mouth lift.

_Listen_ to her.

What ever happened to that wretch, living in the bottom of a bottle, drinking whatever swill did the trick?

She emptied her glass in one gulp and stared at it for a moment, before giving in to the urge. Nothing happened to her, she thought with dark amusement. She toasted her reflection in the mirror with the refilled glass and a wry smile. _She's right there. _She emptied that next one with the slightest twinge of what might have been remorse. Too easy to empty. She took her time filling it again, promising herself that it was the last one for the day. Falling back into old habits would be careless of her. And she could never afford to be careless. She set the bottle back into its bucket and with a turn of her finger she grasped the created cigarette. She lit the end and sighed, bringing it to her mouth. This was a much better vice to indulge in. There were no real replacements for her cigars, but it would take the edge off. She inhaled the familiar bitter smoke and let it burn in her lungs.

_Easy! _Her eyes flew open. The smoke exploded from her lungs in great, wracking coughs as that dusty male voice filtered through her mind. _That'll happen the first few times. You get used to it._

She wheezed, gasping as she struggled to suppress the coughs. She could almost see him in the formless brown robes of the order, pipe in hand as he looked down at her. She knew the look in his brown eyes. Pity and regret. She threw the cigarette away, as if it had burned her.

As always, there he lay. Broken on the white marble steps, a prayer on his lips.

"_Stay dead," _she rasped.

Stay dead.

Her sword was still on the floor where she had dropped it, sunlight flashing off polished steel.

_That sword is for you, isn't it? Were you trained?_

She found her glass, left abandoned on the table. She drained it quickly. Then she dug out the bottle, and refilled it once again. Last one, she promised. Last one.

She caught herself on her sixth or seventh glass, feeling sick to her stomach.

What was she doing?

She set the glass down on the table heavily, and her forehead joined it with a thud. And because that wasn't enough, she lifted her head a hand length and let it fall again. Her teeth ground together. Perhaps, she should have slept last night instead. Руин could only hurt her.

She felt threadbare. Worn thin.

See through.

These were the echoes of a dead girl. That was all they were.

_At least the dead girl knew how to use a blade, _she thought and grimaced. Unbidden, her fingers drifted across the scar over her heart. She was a grown woman. She could admit it.

She was rusty.

She had forgotten what it was like, to have your sword be an extension of yourself. She had forgotten what it was like to _trust _it, with every fibre of your being. She had forgotten what it was like to move according to instincts honed in life or death struggle.

She had forgotten what it felt like to ride the edge of her inhumanity, craving the blood and the pain.

The flinch that followed that thought was an ingrained response, expecting the weight of the Oculum to fall upon her. Crushing. Of course, it never came. It had been decades and she still -

Just enough to knock the rust off, she reasoned. Wandering into a war zone out of practice was not a winning strategy. She knew that from personal experience.

It would cost her.

It always would.

Steeling herself, Renia reached out for a demon and was met with nothing. She faltered for a moment, confused. A second attempt met with the same result. Why wasn't it - it was gone? Hadn't she used it when she had first arri -

_It was gone._

_Louise._

A shiver went down her spine. She felt newly vulnerable and exposed in her empty room. Seventy three demons, down from ninety nine. Intellectually, she had known. She was diminished. Weakened.

She could hear her mother's voice. _Weakness is death._

She bit the knuckle of her index finger and let the pain ground her. She was being ridiculous.

That was more than enough.

It had to be.

She had others. She was not looking for power, not exactly. It would take _some_ power, but most of all it would take subtlety. Having both tended to be reserved for the upper echelon of demons, the ones smart enough to go beyond crude measures. You would sooner find a demon that could shatter a continent, before you found one capable of anchoring a soul. Power, skill and...one she could trust.

She hesitated as she lingered over a jewel, feeling something in her chest constrict. It fit the criteria, she thought. It _could _be trusted.

That did not make it safe.

This one.

The shadow formed before her as a sinuous thing, eyes dark as pitch lined its body looking in every direction at once. It headed straight for the windowsill, ignoring her completely. It curled up on it within a ray of sunlight as its midnight black carapace gained depth and definition. It didn't take long before the demon was replaced with the illusion of a large black snake with a milk chocolate-brown diamond pattern going down its back.

She felt the nostalgic pang as she moved to stand beside it, fingers drifting over its scales. She remembered being a child, toddling about the manor with this snake draped over her small shoulders. It was not the most orthodox of companions, but to a lonely girl, it was practically family.

"Дед?"

It raised its head, opening reptilian yellow eyes. _Girl._

She had to smile at that familiar voice, dry and cracking like splintering wood. It was a voice that had told a little girl stories in the dead of night. Reliving its past exploits, or showing off gruesome trophies. It had been a watcher, a teacher, and at times disciplinarian. As a child, she adored it and when she was abandoned on the monastery's front doorstep, its ruby was her only source of comfort. Mother had always been partial to object lessons.

As was Руин.

The snake looked about the room. _Interesting change of scenery. Lost the war, did you?_

_No, _She admitted easily. _I was usurped._

_Farm boy?_

Dallin.

_Not him. _She ran gentle fingers over the ridges of its eyes and under its chin. _Edmund._

_Is that not what you wanted?_

Renia turned her eyes from it to look out the window, at a clear blue sky horizon and dense forest. Magic eaters. Once the bleeding began in the stomach, and then the intestines, it was a long, painful, sure death. If the victim was _resilient_, they would suffer for a long time.

_One more murder in my name, _Edmund had said. She pressed her free hand to the window pane. _Not like that._

"I suppose it was."

It pressed its head into her hand. _What's on your mind?_

She shifted, leaning forward until her forehead met the glass. It was cool. Her breath kissed the glass, misting. "Do you remember my monastery, Дед?"

_They died. Everyone._

Her eyes drifted shut as her fingers curled against the glass, fingernails scraping.

_Intent never mattered._

Дед wrapped around her wrist. _With __**relish, **_it replied. _Doing that again, are we?_

She wished she could say no. She wished she could say, never again. But it was not healthy for sorceresses to lie to themselves. She would hesitate, perhaps, but in the end she would do it all again. It had not just been that village of three hundred. It was the caravan of twenty one that had gone missing at the border. It was the derailed train out of the Capital totaling seventy five. It was disguised as a fire claiming thirty seven. Some were taken during a blizzard, only six. It was a training camp, tragically overrun by a Haunting. A Dowager Empress and a young soldier the only survivors.

Dallin's voice screamed in her mind. _Murderer!_

She shook her head once. "You used to brag about me to Руин."

_Of course I did,_ it huffed, slithering inch by inch up her arm. _Slip of a girl like you killing what grown knights couldn't. Was amusing is what it was._

Amusing.

Yes, she supposed it must have been.

"I need to fight like that girl again." She shrugged helplessly. "I am out of practice and would like to avoid getting my heart skewered in the near future."

_You know, I __**had **__wondered about that. Seemed mighty inconvenient. I just didn't want to say anything._

Her lips twitched and she turned from the window. "You're trying to make me laugh."

Caught, the snake rubbed its head against her shoulder. _You do seem awfully morose, girl. There's more to this, isn't there? _It crept along the back of her neck. _Come on now, grandpa can't fix it if it doesn't know what's wrong._

For a Price.

Some feeling rattled in her chest. A hot ball lodged at the base of her throat. Don't let it see. Don't let it know.

"I missed you," Renia said softly.

_We are bound. _Its tongue lightly flicked against her cheek. _All you need do is ask._

She turned her head just enough to look into its yellow eyes. The illusion was well crafted. Around slit pupils, the iris was a speckled brown and green, blending into a golden yellow as it radiated from the center. Like Руин, Дед loved its illusions.

"Then ask I shall. By what means can my fighting skill be restored?"

_Easiest method would be to restore __**you**__. Take off a few decades, turn back the clock. It would be like it happened yesterday, literally._

"What would happen to those few decades worth of memories?"

_Dunno. _Дед squirmed further, draping itself about her neck. _Might still be there, your soul is strong enough. Like a dream._

"Not good enough."

_Time compression? _Its tail wrapped about her waist. _Stuff a few months of training within a day. _

And another debt to acquire training partners, she knew how that worked. She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I thought you didn't like manipulating time?"

_I don't, _it snorted. _Splitting the streams is annoying, too many things can go wrong during resyncing and don't get me started on loops. _

If she were to exclude Руин, she still knew another that could and would. But it was dangerous to call on that one. "A last resort then."

_I could dig it up. It's in your mind still. Muscle memory, reflexes, procedural memories, I could bring it to the fore. _Its head bobbed back and forth. _Delicate work._

With a little smile, she gently tapped the snake on the nose. "But you _can_ do it, can't you?"

Дед reared back, affronted. _Of course I could, silly girl._

_You could have changed Edmund's mind, _she thought. A puppet to rule through would have been easier, better. For what was convictions, beliefs, _morals; _for what was a personality worth, in the end?

She didn't know.

"And what would you have of me in return?"

_Weeelll...since you are asking..._The snake coiled about her a little tighter. _I find myself in need of a new toy._

Yes, she thought with a slight feeling of distaste. It was something to consider when calling on her more powerful possessions, that they each had their own little idiosyncrasies. Their own unique temperaments. Tastes. She had not forgotten and she was not ignorant.

Not anymore.

"Grow bored with your last one?" She asked lightly. "Or did something happen to her?"

_It broke. _The snake settled on her, closing its eyes. _Just up and stopped working, completely unresponsive. _It opened one eye in a gimlet stare. _And before you say 'well just undo it,' I tried. Soul is completely unrecoverable._

She knew better than to say Руин could.

"I am _surrounded _by adolescents," Renia mused aloud. "I'm sure the Academy can spare one student."

_Hmm. _She felt it brush her mind. _Blegh. Too old. _

"As I recall, your last toy wasn't much younger." There was a defensive note in her own voice that she did not like. "I thought you liked the sport."

_I do, I do, _it was quick to reassure her.

"You _know _how humans work, Дед. The young do not survive." She once met a shaman of the wolf under a new moon. They were riding his body, chasing something small and defenseless. Something that could not run very fast at all.

She waited until Edmund was thirteen to put him through the Haunting, she thought. She didn't know why she thought it. The situations were nothing alike.

_I know, I know, _Дед's head nudged her shoulder once more. _I'm looking to train this one first and - and I've done my research! I want it to understand speech and have a rudimentary problem solving capability. Dexterity is more important than strength, and flexibility is a nice trait to have. It's important to start on that early!_

"You _have _put some thought into this," she observed neutrally. "I trust that extends to keeping them in _working_ condition?"

_I got carried away, _Дед admitted sheepishly. _Won't happen again._

She hummed non-committedly.

_Too young is useless, but the older they are the more time I lose, _the demon explained. _So I was thinking somewhere in the range of eight to ten years old for a nice, middle ground._

A nice middle ground, she thought as she examined her reflection in the glass. It was an evocative image. The woman in the window could have been carved from ice. Her face was a blank slate with an unsmiling mouth and dull eyes, as if the artist had simply forgotten what _life _looked like. The Serpent from the Dedication of St. Vodker had caught her in its constricting coils, wrapped about her from the neck down.

It could crush her.

_I know I'm asking a lot, _Дед said apologetically. _But, well, this is your life we're talking about here._

And she had always done what it took to survive.

"It would be three debts," she said evenly. "One to travel to the Capital and another to ensure my absence goes unnoticed, just to acquire a pet." She clucked her tongue. "Inconvenient barely covers it."

_I can be patient, _it assured her. Its tongue gently tapped along her jawline. _You've always been so good to me, it's only fair. I can wait._

An eight to ten year old child in exchange for her fighting ability.

Some hot feeling boiled up her throat.

What did it _matter _how old they were? At ten or at thirty, they sweat and bleed and _die _like everyone else. She knew that. She had always known that. She avoided it. She _hated _it. _Life wasn't fair, _you stupid girl. _Power _was what mattered, and what she was willing to do for it. It was not the first time she had made a similar bargain and it would _not _be the last. She -

She averted her eyes from the window.

No weakness, she thought.

But the words stuck to her tongue.

Around her, Дед stilled.

_What is this?_ It said, sounding genuinely confused. Then it shifted, growing thinner with a sandier color to its scales in diamond patterns. A rattle at the end of its tale thrummed. _**What is this?**_

Weakness was death.

She found her voice. "It's nothing. I am simply considering how to fulfill the terms."

_Nothing? _Its tongue flickered over the pulse of her neck. It shifted once more, shrinking and becoming more golden in its coloring as the diamond patterns faded. _Nothing…_it murmured softly. _I've known you since you were shitting your diapers, putting spiders in your mouth, girl. _It tightened its coils, sharp scales on its belly dug into her skin until it bled. She reached for that spot of light in the darkness, feeling the world turn. _**Don't think you can fool me!**_

Twin hollow fangs full of venom skittered across the projected edge of her soul. She grabbed at the air and struck at herself with the hollow blade. The coils about her instantly loosened as the bisected halves fell away. Her dress slid off her, pooling at her feet. She raised her right arm, gilded in the gold of her Arcanum, and pulled at the threads binding them together. It was the work of a moment to press a demon out of reality, but she remembered being a child, toddling about the manor with this snake on her small shoulders.

She stayed her hand.

It became dark smoke, reforming on the window sill as a small garden snake.

"Do not do that again," was all she said.

Its little head bobbed before it curled up in a circle. _Oh what would your dear mother think, if she saw you now?_

"You care?" Renia asked archedly as she rooted around her room for another dress to slip on. Red will do. "You always called her an idiot."

_Because she squandered her potential, playing Руин's little games, _Дед lamented. _She could have moved mountains if she wished._

"If she wished," she agreed. Then magic died and the once great, towering behemoth of her childhood had been reduced to embers.

Respect born of fear lasts only until one is no longer afraid.

_Where did I go wrong? _It wailed. _Your mother -_

Irritation boiled in her gut. "I am not my mother."

The demon fell silent for a long moment.

_Ah, _it said. It shifted once more, remaining small but becoming brightly colored. Bands of red, black and yellow ran down its form. _You are still that contrary little hellion in need of a firm hand, aren't you?_

"I am no longer a child, Дед."

It closed its eyes, snuggling into its coils. _Aren't you? _It sighed, brushing her mind. She did not know what it was looking for. _Are you better than her then? For having drawn those little lines in the sand._

Better? She thought. A step took her back to the window where she knelt, her face even with the little snake curled up on the sill. She reached out with her right hand, and trailed a careful finger across the bright stripes.

"There is no such thing as a better person," she said. "Only different."

_Hmph. _It opened one forest green eye. _At least you haven't forgotten everything I taught you._

The corner of her mouth tugged. "Mother taught me."

_I helped! _It lifted its little head, indignant. And for a moment, its forest green eyes swam in her vision.

_Do you remember my monastery, _Дед?

"Yes," Renia whispered. "You did." Its gaze followed her as she stood. She picked her sword up from the floor and sheathed it within its dark leather scabbard. "Your terms are final?"

_It is, _the demon said.

"Fine." She shrugged as she gently placed her ruby rose blade on the dresser, beside her crown. "I will call others and ask for their terms. I will choose whichever is less…" Briefly, she closed her eyes. "Inconvenient."

_You would risk that? As you are? _

"Yes." She allowed herself a grim little smile. "This is my life we are talking about, after all."

_I don't understand, _it admitted. Дед sounded lost. _What happened to you?_

"We're not at home," she said as an answer, running a finger along the golden peak of her crown. The ruby glimmered in the sunlight, but it was empty. With a sigh, she dropped her hand and opened the first drawer as she sat on the stool. She had never been one for cosmetics, products for hair or skin and she similarly had no need for the pins and clips, so it was a lot of space for a few small things. Her pocket watch. Her necklace and earrings. Her silver cigar case. And…

She picked up the athame. As the sunlight hit the silver edge, the shadows within the metal came alive. It had been her mother's, one of the few objects she took from the manor before it burned. The woman's expensive tastes were self-evident in the black diamonds winding trails down the hilt and the gold lion head pommel.

"You are not asking to cross the border, you require an opening." A Haunting was a crude, brute force solution when collateral damage was the point. It was also a door that opened only one way. The veil in reality could be torn in the opposite direction, if one knew how.

She pricked her finger on the point of the knife. A crimson bead slid down the curve to the deep fuller running down the center of the dagger. She watched it make its slow journey to the large hole in the guard. It gathered at the edge of the circle before gravity finally pulled it free.

It hung, suspended in mid air within the guard as a perfect, red sphere. A crimson pearl. Her lips pursed. If only it were just blood. The blade required more.

Matvei had done this for her. He had complained at first. Something about his professional integrity being sullied by nameless degenerates. It was an interesting subversion of expectations that a few nameless degenerates would cost her more than silencing a governor. It was necessary, and so she thought no more of it.

Matvei was not here.

Renia sighed, shifting her grip on the dagger. Between the fourth and fifth rib, she thought. It would not be painless, but it would be quick. She would have to personally choose the victim and the sacrifice. She was less concerned about the agreement. Children were simple creatures, but she did not relish the thought of then having to shove them through.

It would hurt. Passing through the edge of reality always _scraped, _but then, what lay on the other side was worse.

She glanced towards the window, where a little brightly colored snake lay. "You are familiar with the process."

_It is nothing you have not done before, _it said. The question still hung between them.

"Yes," she responded. "Руин waited." She did not elaborate. She felt Дед brush her mind, but this time she shoved it away. "_Don't."_

Дед uncurled. The illusion fell away and the sinuous shadow covered in pitch black eyes snaked over to her. It stopped at her feet, a little green garden snake once again, looking up at her with large yellow eyes. After a moment, she reached down and let it wind up her wrist.

_Oh, what am I to do with you? _It wondered.

"There is nothing for it, Дед," she answered gently. She carefully placed the athame back within the drawer. Shr briefly touched the other items, reminders of home. For a reason she could not name, her fingers lingered on the cigar case. "If I must, then I will. That has not changed."

She had always done what she must to survive.

"I simply wish - " The ruby in her crown sparked and that was the only warning she had.

Her tongue _burned._

It was as if it had been set on fire, white hot agony radiated from it in waves. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream as she felt her tongue searing a hole in the bottom of her mouth. She could feel her saliva _boil. _She had reached between her teeth, fully intending to simply rip it out when the pain stopped.

Her spine thrummed. Her mouth was numb. Her tongue a dead weight. She was vaguely aware of Дед's soothing murmurs when she heard Руин's satisfied chuckle.

_Paid in full, _it said.

_Welcome to hell, sister, _she thought.

She closed her eyes and laid her head upon the dresser. She used to get angry. It was no use being angry.

Дед crawled further up her arm. _You are tired._

"Yes," she said thickly.

Its little head bobbed back and forth. _Sleep, girl._

With a flick of her finger, she locked the door to her room. She did not bother changing out of her red dress, simply unclasping her Arcanum and slipping it from her arm. The frozen metal clinked and clattered as she dropped it within the drawer. She spared the crown not a single glance.

She pulled back the sheets and paused, raising an eyebrow as she saw the snake still wrapped around her arm. "Are you planning on staying?"

_Yes._

She sighed and got under the covers. She grabbed a second pillow, hugging it to her chest. "I'm no longer a child, Дед."

_Aren't you? _The demon asked and she decided not to answer. Her eyes tentatively closed. Her grip on the pillow tightened as she tensed, tight as a bow string. Руин would hurt her. There was too much too close to the surface. The wounds still bled.

Дед coiled tighter. _Sleep._

It brushed her mind then, and she let it lull her to sleep.

She dreamed.

_Laughter. Hands on her stomach. Gentle kisses. Movement beneath her fingertips._

_The movement quickens, turns frantic. The pain starts. Eadred! Blood. White bed sheets stained red. Murmurs. Faces. Get away from me!_

_A girl with black hair ran. Faster! Faster! A man with the face of a wolf leapt from the shadows._

_The knife is in her hand. Blood fills the hole in the guard. Heat. The manor burns._

_Her mother is on the floor, head twisted. Still she laughs._

_There you are, darling. My daughter after all._

_Red eyes. A black blade._

_Murderer! _

The sun had set when she awakened. Silver shafts of moonlight spilled through the windows, leaving glowing shards on the floor. There was a gleam of gold on the dresser. She rose. With practiced movements, she slipped her Arcanum back onto her arm. Feverish, flushed scars numbed by the frozen metal. Gently, she unwrapped the small snake from about her other arm and pressed a kiss to its little snout.

"Thank you."

It became as dark smoke, flowing back into its gem. She picked up her sword, rubbing a thumb across the stitching on the dark leather. She ran a finger across the hilt, feeling the lettering etched into the dark wood.

It was time.

She left behind an empty wine glass and a pillow wet with tears.


End file.
